LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


LESSE  OBLIGE 


BY  THE 


OROF"MLLE.MORr 


*Z^.^. 


Henry  HoLT&Co.PuBLiSHEF. 

Nev/York 

M 


The 


I 


I 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

California  State  Library 


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CONDENSED  CLASSICS. 

PiiKi'Aiti-.iJ    nv    IIOSSITEU    JOJLNSOX, 
(E>l'itOf    of  ^'  Littli'    tla.snics.") 

IMessrs.  IIknky  IIoi.t  &  Co.  have  }«st  begnn  th<i  pul)lication.  in  a 
<'0ii(lejKseil  fonii.  of  a  series  of  Staiidanl  Works  of  Eiit^lisli  Fiction  wliose 
authors  are  no  longer  living,  and  which,  not  being  impres^seil  \i\xni 
popular  attention  by  the  appearance  of  new  works  from  the  .same 
writers,  are  gradually  being  crowded  iTito  the  backgronnil. 

Ic  is  not  intended  to  raise  tlie  (luostion  whether  such  works  .shall  be 
read  in  this'  edition  or  in  a  complete  one.  but  to  meet  the  question 
already  exi.-^ting — whether,  in  many  instances,  they  shall  be  rend  in 
some  such  edition  as  this,  or  not  read  at  all.  The  ILst  of  '  •  books  iliat 
everybody  talks  about  and  noVxfdy  reads"  is  growing  with  a  r!i])idiiy 
that  imi)lies  widespread  ignorance  regarding  much  of  w  hat  is  lu-st  in 
our  literary  heritage.  It  i~  in  the  liope  of  diminisliing  this  ignorance, 
not  of  increasing  it — of  securing  for  the  condensed  ediiions  many  rend- 
ers who  would  never  attack  the  complete  ones,  that  this  series  is  begun. 

Very  few  actually  read  every  ])aragrai)h  of  a  long  novel,  and  of  those 
who  do,  many  might  be  glad  to  re-read,  in  a  conden-atiou  which  pre- 
serves every  dramatic  element,  roiaanees  which  once  gave  pleasure, 
hut  are  now  forbidden  fruit-:.  1i(-.>;iCy  •"•f^-tb-":^  -!\i,,<i-"jt-,ai.-'"n^vii'.ii'  ".f 
time. 

This  edition  is  not,  of  course,  m  jje  criiicis.jn  tin  il  it  jirjii-j.-sed  rd  \iq 
an  improvement  of  tlie  novels,  but  rather  as  a  species  of  dramatiz.atiim. 
Ever>y  word, .with  the  excejitiuii  of  a  few  connecting  clauses,  is  tlie 
author's  own,  and  nothing  has  been  consciously  omitted  which  lielps 
on  the  story  or  is  necessary  to  the  delineation  of  a  character  or  the 
;rrapliic  portr  >yal  of  a  scene. 

Though  il;e  elided  passag-es  are  by  no  means  worthless,  yet  for  tlie 
I'urposes  of  the  rapid  reader  who  desires  only  the  stoiy  and  an  imcriticid 
knowledge  of  the  author,  the^'  can  well  be  spared,  and  the  dr;iniatic 
inteiest  is  intensified  by  reducing  the  amount  of  matter.  The  aim 
has  been  to  cut  out  everything  that  a  skillful  novel  reader  would  skip. 
,niil  everything  that  he  might  skip  if  he  knew  what  were  comi?ig.  This 
condensation  leaves  the  novels,  on  the  average,  about  half  of  their 
iir!"':'i:H    Ipii'k. 

iVOIV  READY: 

l\^\NFiOE.     By    Sir  Walter  Scott. 
OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND.     By  DicKr..x>. 

X EARLY   REAnV: 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII.   Uy  jk  ..wf.r. 

Reasonable  encouragement  will  lead  to  the  completion  of  the  editions 
of  these  authors  and  to  the  similar  publication  of  the  U'orks  of  Field- 
ing. -Sterne,  Marryat,  Lever.  '\\'arreu,  and  others. 

^^E'l.L-h  novel  will  bi  in  II  ISmoroi.  hi'  "I 

Price  $1.  r25  liohd  at ,  Nfw  ioik.  iM:i.  ;j,  lo.i;. 


/     V 


LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE 


BY    THH 


AUTHOR    OF    "MLLE.   MORI" 


/  ji.0-^'- 


"  Onr  duty  is  neither  to  ridicule  the  affairs 
of  men,  nor  to  deplore,  but  einiply  to  un- 
dergtand  ihem '" — Spinoza. 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY   HOLT   AND   COMPANY 

1876, 


DEDICATED 
TO    THE    DEAR    MEMORY    OF 

E.  M.  H. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTKH 

I.  MOTHKR   AKD    DArOHTER 

II.  Plot  and  Counterplot  . 

III.  A  Republican  Wedding 

IV.  A  Li>NO  Night's  Walk  . 
V,  Explanations 

VI.  Edmee  finds  a  Feiend   . 

VII.  Friend  or  Foe   . 

VIII.  Froji  Scylla  to  Chartbdi: 

■"  IX.  The  Abbe  Gerusez 

X.  Mere  Claude  . 

XI.  What  the  Abbe  said. 

XII.  Apartments  in  Paris 

XIII,  In  Hiding   . 

XIV.  A  Game  of  Chess  . 

XV.  The  Blow  falls 

XVI.  A  Friend  in  Need. 

XVII.  Foiled 

XVIII.  '  The  Incorruptible  ' 

XIX.  Uncaged 

XX.  Balmat's  Conspieact 

XXI.  An  Exchange  of  Prisoners 

XXII.  Between  Flood  and  Ebb 

XXIII.  Eeminiscences     . 

XXIV.  A  Recognition 


PAGB 

1 

10 

14 

23 

32 

39 

48 

58 

C>6 

77 

85 

94 

103 

112 

119 

127 

136 

143 

152 

IGO 

168 

175 

182 

190 


via 


CONTENTS. 


flHAPTER 

XXV.  Hide  and  Seek      . 

XXVI.  The  9th  of  Thbrmidoe     . 

XXVII.  Lattke     .... 

XXVni.  Open  Sesame      . 

XXIX.  'Should  Old  Acqdaintancb  be 

XXX.  The  Birds  aee  ixown 

XXXI.  Balmat  in  his  Studio   . 

XXXn.  M.  Dklts  makes  a  JouRNEr 

XXXIII.  An  Art  Patron     . 

XXXIV.  In  the  Atelieb 
XXXV.  Hopes  and  Fears 

XXXVI.  De  Pelvex  goes  to  Church 

XXXVII.  A  Meeting  ui  the  Atelier 

XXXVIII.  Life  in  the  Atelier 

XXXIX.  A  Glimpse  of  the  Past 

XL.  Entrapped 

XLI.  Alain's  Ransom     .         .     . 

XLII.  A  Friend  at  Court  . 

XLIII.  Husband  and  Wife 


FORGOT  ? ' 


PAQK 

203 
212 
220 
231 
242 
252 
259 
273 
286 
294 
306 
314 
325 
335 
340 
350 
359 
368 
381 


NOBLESSE   OBLIGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MOTHER   AND    DAUGHTER. 

Between  Pontarlier  on  the  French  frontier  and  that  district 
•which  in  1793  was  kno^^'n  as  Bresse  lies  a  great  stretch  of  as 
uninteresting  country  as  can  be  found  in  the  whole  of  Central 
France.  It  is  spaisgly  populated  now,  and  was  even  more 
so  then ;  but  here  and  there  a  village  raises  its  red-tiled 
roofs  beside  a  winding  river,  and  then  the  long  white  road 
goes  on  again  over  a  featureless  jilain,  as  far  as  eye  can  see, 
without  another  hamlet  cominc;  into  sight.  Vaise  is  one 
of  these  villages,  far  off"  the  modem  track  of  travellers,  and 
offering  notlung  noticqable  in  itself,  but  situated  in  one  of  the 
few  spots  which  have  any  claim  to  picturesqueness,  for  there 
a  little  river  mns  fiercely  between  rocky  banks,  eddying  and 
foaming  round  great  blocks  of  stone  which  fell  mto  it  at 
that  far-off  time  when  this  strange  and  sudden  upheaval  of 
the  ground  took  place,  and  obliging  anyone  who  wishes  to 
cross  to  go  all  the  \\'ay  round  to  the  bridge,  which  spans  the 
stream  with  a  single  very  high  and  pointed  stone  arch.  At 
first  sight  the  bed  seems  so  narrow  and  so  much  encumbered 
by  the  huge  boulders  lying  in  it  that,  except  at  times  v/hen 
melting  snow  or  heavy  rains  send  the  stream  in  flood  to  the 
Saone,  it  looks  an  easy  thing  to  cross  upon  them  ;  but  the 
inhabitants  know  that  in  mid-channel  there  is  always  a  deep 
and  rapid  current,  too  wide   to   jump   across,  and   strong 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


enough  to  swee])  away  any  stepping-stones.     They  either  go 
round  to  the  bridge,  or  boiTOw  the  miller's  boat.     The  mill 
stands  by  a  wider  and  quieter  bit  of  water,  formed  partly  by 
ISTature,  partly  by  art.     Every  mill  has  its  boat  along  these 
streams.     In  1792  the  mill  of  Vaise  belonged  to  the  Chateau 
de  St.  Aiguan,  and   until  feudal  rights  a\oic  abolished  the 
villagers  were  bound  to  have  their  corn  ground  at  it.     The 
chateau  stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  an  ancient,  but 
not  very  extensive  building.     Its  o^\^lers  were  of  a  good 
countiy  family — noblesse  de  provincs — who,  until  the  last 
twenty  years,  had  lived  on  theii-  estates,  and  only  claimed 
very  distant  cousinsliip  with  the  elder  branch  of  the  same 
name.     The  actual  owner  had  joined   the  army  as  a  lad  of 
twelve,  with  some  half-dozen  young  cousins,  under  his  father's 
guardianship,  and    before   he  was   thirteen  had  seen   some 
service,  and  came  hoine  for  a  short  time  to  be  cured  of  a 
wound  in  the  arm.      Since  then  he  had   rarely  appeared, 
except  to  pass  a  few  weeks  in  hunting,  and  his  intendant,  or 
steward,  Leroux,  was  much  better  known  to  the  tenants  than 
theii-  master,  of  whom  Leroux's  dealings  gave  no  very  pleasant 
impression.     Living  at  Court   strained   the  resources  of  a 
property   never   very   considerable,   and,  as   elsewhere,  the 
tenants  of  St.  Aignan  were  ground  down  by  exactions — not 
more  than  elsewhere,  and  not  less.     Things  were   rapidly 
changing  now,  but  for  the  moment  it  seemed  doubtful  whether 
for  the  better  or  worse.     The  Earon  and  his  sons  were  gone, 
indeed,  out  of  the  story  ;  some  said  they  were  in  Paris,  others 
that  they  had  emigrated  ;  no  one  knew  or  cared  much  which 
was  true ;  Leroux  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  when  asked. 
He  had  always  given  it  to  be  understood  that  he  was  the 
unwilling  instrument  of  his  master's  exactions,  and  that  his 
strongest  wish  Avas  never  to  see  or  hear  of  him  again.     This 
was  true  enough,  though  perh:ips  not  in  the  sense  in  which 
he  Avished  it  to  be  understood.     The  villagers  had   never 
known  exactly  what  to  make  of  Jncques   Leroux  ;  they  had 
feared  him  when  he  acted  for  his  lord,  and  feared  him  even 
more  now  that  he  headed  the  little  party  of  Jacobins  which 
had  sprung  up  at  Vaise  as  elsewhere,  to  be  at  first  hailed 
and  admiied  as  patriots  by  their  neighbours,  all  of  v/hom  had 


MOTHER  AND  DA  UOHTER.  3 

tlieir  own  story  of  wrongs  and  siifTeruigs,  but  who  now  begaa 
to  be  viewed  Avith  vague  and  fearful  distrust.  No  one  in 
£'i  ance  knew  exactly  what  to  expect  or  fear,  so  that  no  effec- 
tual defence  could  be  attempted  against  the  rising  tide  of 
revolution.  Of  late  a  rumour  had  ciiculatcd  that  the  chateau, 
and  its  lands  were  to  be  sold  as  hi:n  d'emi'jrc,  in  lots  to  tho 
highest  bidder,  as  the  property  of  a  neighbouring  convent 
had  been  some  time  before.  No  one  knew  the  truth  of  this, 
unless  Leroux  did.  The  villagers  thought  that  they  must 
now  be  at  liberty  to  kill  game  and  fell  trees  as  they  jileased, 
and  went,  €7i  masse,  to  pull  down  the  dovecot  of  the  chateau, 
•with  vengeful  recollections  of  the  crops  desti'oyed  and  di- 
minished by  the  flights  of  pigeons,  whose  right  it  was  to  feed 
in  the  tenants'  fields.  But  having  accomplished  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  '  colombier,'  they  found  a  sudden  check  put  to 
their  proceedings  by  Leroux's  declaring  that  the  chiiteau  a,nd 
its  dependencies  were  the  property  of  the  nation,  and  must 
therefore  be  respected.  It  Avas  a  severe  disappointment,  and 
there  was  much  grumbling,  but  v/ith  bated  breath,  for  Leroux 
knew  how  to  speak  too  significantly  to  be  disregarded.  No 
one  liked  to  meet  his  light-grey  eyes  twice.  He  Avas  an 
under-sized  man,  Avith  a  narroAv  head  and  a  thin  A'oice ;  there 
seemed  nothing  formidable  about  him,  and  yet  everyone  felt 
something  of  that  mortal  terror  in  Avhich  his  Avife  held  him — 
terror  Avhich  Avas  not  produced  by  blows  or  any  tangible  ill- 
treatment.  Leroux  had  never  struck  a  blow,  nor  abused 
anyone  loudly  in  his  life ;  but  he  liad  a  singular  poAver  of 
cowing  all  under  his  authority  by  look  and  tone,  and  a  fev/ 
quiet  words.  By  such  means  he  had  long  since  crushed  his 
Avife  into  helpless,  nervous  submission.  Madame  Leroux  did 
not  belong  to  Vaise  by  birth.  She  came  from  Berri,  Avhere 
the  St.  Aignans  had  also  property ;  and  the  good  folks  of 
Yaise  had  always  looked  on  her  as  a  stranger,  and  therefore 
more  foe  than  friend.  During  all  the  seA'enteen  yeais  in 
Avhich  she  had  lived  in  Vaise,  and  faded  into  a  pale,  shrinking 
creo.,ture,  the  shadoAv  of  her  old  self,  she  had  not  knoAvn  hoAV 
to  make  a  friend  among  her  own  class;  and  the  only  person 
AA'ho  showed  her  a  little  rough  kindness  Avas  the  miller,  a 
good-humoured  cheery  man,  who  had  married  Leroux's  sister. 


4  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

There  was.  no  doubt,  a  jealousy  cf  Ber,  as  "being  not  only  a 
foreigner,  but  a  step  above  them  as  the  intendant's  wife,  and 
often  at  the  chateau ;  but  the  deeper  reason  was  that  she 
grew  yearly  more  sj^iritless  and  unable  to  show  fi-iendlincss 
herself.  Her  one  dcsiie  was  to  keep  out  of  sight,  and  come 
as  little  as  possible  in  Leroux's  way.  Only  one  person  had 
succeeded  in  winning  the  confidence  of  the  frightened  woman, 
and  this  was  Madame  de  St.  Aignan,  a  Beirichonne  like 
herself,  who,  when  she  was  at  the  chateau,  would  send  for 
her  and  recall  mutual  recollections  of  her  native  place,  while 
they  played  with  little  Edmee,  \intil  she  outgiew  her  baby- 
hood, and  went  to  the  chateau  to  learn  instead  of  to  play. 
Edmee  was  the  only  child  of  INIadame  Leroux,  and  the  god- 
child of  Madame  de  St.  Aignan.  But  the  kind  mistress  of 
the  chiiteau  was  dead,  taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come,  and 
Madame  Leroux  was  slowly  pining  to  death  on  a  sick  bed, 
nursed  by  Edmee,  now  a  slender,  startled-looking  girl  of 
sixteen,  who  feared  Leroux  as  much  as  her  mother  did,  but 
in  a  diflerent  way.  Madame  Leroux  knew  more  cf  her 
husband's  tactics  than  anyone  else  did ;  he  had  used  her  as  a 
tool,  and  she  had  been  conscious  of  it,  without  indeed  daring 
to  resist ;  but  the  thought  that  she  had  been  a  spy  on  the  St. 
Aignans  had  gone  far  to  break  down  what  little  courage  she 
had  left,  and  bring  her  to  her  gi-ave.  She  fancied,  with  a 
weak  woman's  exaggerated  remorse,  that  the  ruin  of  the 
family  to  whom  she  owed  hereditaiy  allegiance,  and  vrho  were 
represented  to  her  by  the  beloved  lady  to  whom  she  was  in- 
debted for  all  the  faint  rays  of  sunsliine  Avhich  her  maiTicd 
life  had  known,  lay  at  her  door.  The  thought  haunted  her 
day  and  night,  haimted  Edmee  too,  though  she,  at  least,  was 
blameless;  for  when  she  discovered  that  her  father  had  a 
purjjose  in  making  her  repeat  everything  which  she  heard  at 
the  chateaii  (and  much  was  said  before  the  child  by  guests  and 
xelations  full  of  peril  in  these  last  years)  she  renounced  those 
visits  which  were  her  one  joy,  as  far  as  possible,  or  let  nothing 
be  extracted  from  her  on  her  return,  let  Leroux  do  what  he 
would,  though  she  had  to  set  her  teeth  and  clench  her  hands 
to  keep  back  the  passionate  vrords  that  rushed  to  her  lips 
when  he  turned  on  JMadame  Leroux,  and  reproached  her  for 
Edjnee's  uselessness  to  him,  Avith  the  scathing  speeches  of 


MOTHER  AND  DAUOETEB.  5 

whicli  he  ■v\-as  master.  There  were  times  when  he  hated  this 
girl — who  stood  white,  mute,  in  passive  resistance,  her  dark 
eyes  glowing,  though  she  dared  not  lift  them — almost  more 
than  he  did  the  poor  feeble  woman  who  crouched  at  his  voice 
and  step  in  unconcealed  terror.  There  were  many  miserable 
families  in  Vaise ;  vrant  and  wretchedness  made  men  hard  ; 
the  tailor  behind  his  little  window  with  its  leaded  panes,  and 
the  weaver  throwing  his  shuttle  for  ill-paid  work,  nay,  the 
mothers  themselves  were  often  tempted  to  wish  the  swarms 
of  half-naked  children  scrambling  about  the  doorsteps  were 
underground ;  but  there  was  scarcely  one  household  half  as 
miserable  as  that  of  the  prosperous  Jacques  Leroux. 

*  If  I  only  knew  where  they  all  are  now  ! '  his  wife  was 
murmuring  to    Edmee,   in  weak,  wandering  tonet,   as   the 
spring  twilight  gathered  and  all  the  landscape  grew  indis- 
tinct.    Edmee  bent  over  her,  put  the  pillow  straight,  and 
thought  anxiously  that  the  worn  face  looked  more  dra.wn 
since    morning,    and    that    the    voice  was  fainter.     It    was 
lowered,  however,  as  much  from  instinctive  fear  and  caution 
as  weakness,  although  there  was  no  one  in  the  house  but  the 
mother  and  daughtei*,  for  Leroux  was  at  a  meeting,  held  to 
deliberate  on  the  last  measures  of  the  Convention.     '  If  I 
only  knew  where  they  are  now,  M.  le  Baron  and  his  sons — 
Mademoiselle — how  our  dear  lady  loved  her !  born  sisters 
could  not  have  been  more  to  each  other  ;  they  were  brought 
up  in  the  convent  together,  our  lady  and  Mademoiselle.    Ah, 
Edmee,  dost  thou  recollect  the  night  I  fell  down  the  stairs  ? 
— she  heard  of  it  and  came  at  once,  leaving  her  guests,  only 
a  mantle  thrown  round  her,  in  her  beautiful  dress,  and  wetted 
the  bandages  on  my  head  and  spoke  such  kind  words.   I  would 
have  suffered  twice  as  much  again  gladly,  only  to  hear  them.' 
'  I  remember  well,  mother,'  answered  the  girl,  on  whom 
the  unexpected  visit  from  the  lovely  lady  of  the  chateau,  in 
her  rich  evening  dress  and  sparkling  diamonds,  had  made  an 
ineffaceable  impression. 

'  And  she  comforted  thee,  child,  and  kissed  thee  before 
she  went ;  thy  father  was  standing  by  and  I  saw  him  look  at 
her — ah,  how  he  looked  at  her  and  the  diamonds  ! '  mi:r- 
mured  ]Madame  Leroux,  shuddering  ;  '  she  never  guessed  that 


6  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

I  was  a  spy  on  her  and  all  of  them,  and  must  learn  where 
the  jewels  and  papers  were  kept ;  she  would  not  have  be- 
lieved it  if  I  had  knelt  down  and  told  her,  as  I  longed  to  do 
—oh,  I  did  long  to  do  it !  I  went  as  seldom  as  I  could,  thou 
know'st  that,  Edmee,  though  he  was  angry,  but  sometimes  I 
dared  not  disobey  ...  I  used  to  wish  that  thou  woiild'.st  do 
as  he  desired,  because  thou  know'st  how  it  Avas  when  thou 
didst  refuse,  but  afterwards,  I  was  always  glad  thou  haclst 
such  courage  ;  and  she  would  ask  why  we  came  not  1 — Holy 
Virgin,  forgive  that  I  lied  to  her ;  how  could  I  tell  the 
truth?  It  was  not  my  fault,  Edmee,'  she  added  appeal- 
ingly,  unconscious  of  the  deep  and  terrible  resentment 
against  Leroux,  which  welled  up  in  Edmee's  heart  at  the 
piteous  look  and  tone.  '  I  owed  her  so  much  ;  I  could  bear 
my  life  while  she  lived.  Do  you  think  she  was  happy  1  she 
seemed  so,  but  M.  le  Eai'on  was  not  the  husband  for  her 
- — twice  her  age,  and  not  like  his  ancestors.  All  the  St. 
Aignans  before  him  lived  here,  but  he  must  always  be  at 
Court.  It  is  a  pity  that  M.  le  Chevalier  is  not  the  eldest 
son ;  he  loved  this  place,  and  so  did  she.  He  is  like  her — 
M.  le  Chevalier.  How  she  loved  him  !  he  was  her  own,  you 
see  ;  the  eldest  son  was  M.  le  Baron's,  he  must  always  be 
with  his  father,  and  marry  and  keep  up  the  family  ;  but  M. 
Alain  belonged  to  his  mother.' 

'  M.  le  Chevalier  is  not  maixied,  ma  mere  % ' 
'  M.  le  Chevalier  ! '  answered  Madame  Leroux,  so  m.uch 
startled  by  this  unheard-of  idea  as  to  speak  with  some 
energy,  and  half-lifting  herself  from  her  pillow.  '  Chevaliers 
do  not  marry,  child  ;  what  would  become  of  a  noble  family 
if  any  but  the  eldest  married  ?  Would  you  have  the  lands 
divided  1  M.  le  Baron  had  four  sisters  :  one  married,  one  took 
the  veil,  one  became  a  elianoinesse  ;  his  younger  brother,  M.  le 
Chevalier  dc  St.  Aignan,  uncle  to  oiir  Chevalier,  died  j'oung, 
but  none  ever  married  except  the  eldest  son  and  daughter.' 
*  I  have  seen  his  fourth  sister  here,  mother — Mademoiselle 
— you  spoke  of  her  just  now.  She  was  not  a  nun  nor  a 
chanoinesse,'  said  Edmee,  in  a  perplexed  and  wondering 
tone,  and  in  fact  the  existence  of  a  noble  unmarried  woman 


MOTUEB  AND  DA  UGHTEB.  7 

wlio  was  neither  a  canoness  nor  a  member  of  some  religions 
order  was  an  anomaly  which  might  well  surprise  her. 

'  A  relation  left  her  a  large  dowry,  and  she  was  betrothed 
to  a  noble  gentleman,  but  he  was  taken  prisoner  in  the 
wars,'  answered  Madame  Leroux,  who  was  perfectly  con- 
versant with  the  history  of  the  St.  Aignan  family ;  '  her 
family  knew  not  whether  he  was  alive  or  dead,  and  held  it 
dishonourable  to  break  their  promise  until  it  was  cleared  up, 
and  so  the  time  went  by.  Her  father  died,  and  she  refused 
to  enter  a  convent,  as  her  family  wished  ;  her  motlier  held  it 
a  great  disgrace  to  have  her  living  at  home  unmarried,  like  a 
bourgeoise  ;  but  our  dear  lady  loved  her  and  stood  by  her — 
she  always  held  out  a  hand  to  those  who  wanted  help.  Ah, 
cliild,  I  shall  be  out  of  the  world  soon,  and  have  no  chance 
of  couferssing  first,  for  all  the  priests  are  driven  away  or  in 
prison ;  it  kills  me  when  I  think  I  cannot  confess,  but  if 
ever  you  have  a  chance  of  doing  anything  for  a  St.  AigTian, 
be  you  sure  to  do  it,  maybe  it  will  be  counted  to  me — you 
"will  remember,  Edmee  % ' 

'  '  I  would  do  it  without  that,  for  marraine's  sake,'  answered 
the  girl,  using  the  fond  name  which  Madame  de  St.  Aignan 
had  liked  her  to  give  her. 

'  Yes,  yes,  but  let  it  be  for  my  sake,  it  may  help  me  m 
purgatoiy  if  you  do  them  a  good  work  for  me,'  urged  the 
mother  faintly. 

*  I  will  do  it,  motlier,  no  matter  what  it  cost,'  answered 
the  girl's  low  unfaltering  voice. 

'  That  is  my  own  dear  child,'  answered  Madame  Leroux, 
thinking  too  much  of  the  comfort  which  the  promise  aifordcd 
her,  to  realise  the  risk  which  Edmce  must  run  in  fulfilling  it. 
'  Thou  wert  ever  a  good  child  to  me. — Ah  !  he  is  coming  ! ' 
She  shrank  down  into  the  bed,  trembling,  as  slie  heard  the 
house-door  open  and  her  husband's  step  enter.  If  she  hoped 
that  he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  come  into  her  room 
she  was  mistaken ;  he  walked  in,  and  stood  looldng  a.t  her. 
Something  in  her  face  struck  him,  for  he  said  curtly  :  '  So 
you  are  worse  to-night  1 ' 

'  Ko,  no,'  she  murmured,  as  if  accused  of  a  crime. 

'  Bah  !  you  never  had  sense  enough  to  know  when  it  was 


8  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

of  any  use  to  lie,'  he  said,  surveying  lier  with  contempt. 
'  Well,  I  have  some  news  for  you ;  one  of  your  friends — 
your  dear  lord's  eldest  son — has  been  taken  by  our  soldiers, 
fiarhtincj  with  Conde's  arm  v.'  He  waited  for  an  exclamation 
or  question,  but  only  a  faint  moan  answered  him. 

'  And  he  has  been  shot,'  Edmee  said,  so  quietly  that  he 
was  deceived  into  thinking  she  had  heard  the  intelliijence,  and 
demanded,  with  angry  suspicion,  who  had  told  her. 

'  It  needs  no  one  to  tell  that,  if  he  was  taken,'  said  the 
girl  coldly. 

'  Ah,  well,  that  is  true.  So  there  is  one  aristocrat  less  in 
the  world.  Your  mother  would  like  to  know  that ;  she  was 
always  a  good  patriot,  and  she  has  brought  up  her  daughter 
to  think  like  her,'  said  Leroux.  '  That  is  why  my  good 
friend  Letumier  asks  you  in  marriage,  my  girl.' 

lie  had  moved  them  both  now.  The  mother  absolutely 
turned  towards  him  with  a  faint  cry.  Edmee  lifted  her  eves 
for  an  instant,  while  her  face  was  blanched  with  dismay. 
Leroux  was  satisfied  with  the  effect  his  information  had  pro- 
duced, and  left  the  room  smiling  to  himself  To  give  his 
daughter  to  a  red-hot  Jacobin  like  this  Letumier  was  in 
itself  a  proof  of  patriotism  very  valuable  to  him  ;  and  to  get 
rid  of  the  pale,  silent  girl,  whom  he  felt  he  could  crush  bufc 
not  subdue,  he  would  have  given  her  to  Letumier  or  anyone 
else.  Mother  and  daughter  remained  sUent  for  a  long  time, 
as  if  Leroux  had  still  been  present.  At  last  Madame 
Leroux  whispered  :  *  My  child,  my  poor  child  !  If  thou 
wert  to  beg  thy  uncle  to  help  thee,  he  has  always  been  fond 
of  thee ;  it  may  be  he  would  speak  to  thy  father.  Ah,  if 
they  take  thee  from  me  ! ' 

'  They  shall  not  do  that,  mother.' 

•'  But  if  it  is  his  will,  child  ! ' 

Edmee  had  no  answer  to  make,  but  she  never  was  called 
on  to  solve  the  question  as  to  what  she  should  do  if  her 
father  tried  to  force  her  from  her  mother's  sick  bed.  That 
double  shock  of  ill-tidings  extinguished  the  feeble  flame  of 
life  in  the  weak  frame,  and  by  the  next  day's  end  Edmee  was 
motherless. 

Had   Leroux's  opinions  been  otherwise  than  what  they 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER.  9 

were,  no  religious  service  could  have  been  performed  over 
the  dead  woman.  At  the  beginning  of  the  year  1792  low 
mass  had  still,  in  some  places,  been  tolerated,  early  and  in 
some  secresy,  even  by  priests  who  were  non -jurors,  or,  in 
other  words,  who  had  refused  the  oath  of  unconditional  sub- 
mission to  tho  Government.  Isaturally,  all  who  were 
opposed  to  the  Revolution  frequented  these  services,  which 
therefore  speedily  became  odious  to  the  people,  and  it  grew 
highly  dangerous  to  be  present  at  them.  The  priests  had 
been  hated  as  obstructing  reform,  and  sharing  in  the  innu- 
merable privileges  of  the  nobles  ;  and  although  the  country 
clei'gy  had  for  a  time  been  on  the  popular  side,  and  frater- 
nised with  the  early  reforms,  the  oath  of  obedience  was  a 
stumbling-block  which  ^ew  could  pass.  More  and  more  lied 
out  of  the  country ;  by  the  Ciid  of  the  preceding  year  there 
were  nearly  8,000  priests  and  nuns  in  England  alone,  home- 
less and  penniless,  and  those  who  remained  did  so  under  an 
unspoken  sentence  of  death.  Marriage,  as  a  religious  rite, 
baptism,  and  burial  ceased  to  be  possible  ;  and  if  anything 
could  have  added  to  Edmee's  horror  at  the  thought  of  being 
given  to  Letumier,  it  was  that  no  ceremony  was  practicable, 
except  that  brief  legal  form  vvdiich  to  her  was  no  marriage  at 
all.  The  villagers  who  came  to  see  Madame  Leroux  buried 
were  astonished  at  the  tearless  gaze  with  which  Edmee 
looked  on.  They  could  not  tell  with  what  bitter  relief  she 
was  saying  to  herself :  '  No  one  can  reach  her  there  to  tor- 
ture her,  not  even  he  ! '  There  was  almost  triumph  in  her 
heart  as  she  thought  that  this  victim  had  escaped  Lerovix. 
Of  her  own  fate  she  had  not  thought  much  yet,  and  he  was 
too  busy  to  concern  himself  just  then  about  her.  She  was 
sure  to  be  at  hand  when  he  wanted  her.  Edmee  had  not 
appealed  to  her  uncle  or  to  anyone  else.  She  would  have 
smiled  hopelessly  enough  at  the  suggestion  that  anyone 
could  influence  Leroux.  Edmee  knew  him  too  well  to  siip- 
pcse  that  possible. 


10  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

CHAPTER  II. 

PLOT   AND    COUNTERPLOT. 

Two  days  after  the  hasty,  imhonoured  burial  of  l\Iadame 
Leroux,  Edmee  sat  alone  in  the  dim  room  where  she  had 
nursed  her  mother,  beside  the  empty  bed.  Her  household 
duties  had  all  been  done  early  in  the  day ;  she  had  not  been 
out  of  the  house,  nor  had  anyone  come  near  her,  and  as  she 
sat  in  silence  and  solitude  a  sudden  sense  of  desolation  came 
upon  her,  and,  for  the  first  time,  hiding  her  face  on  the  bed, 
she  broke  into  weeping,  mute,  but  shaking  her  from  head  to 
foot  with  emotion.  Two  or  three  figures  passing  the  closed 
window,  and  the  click  of  the  lifted  door-latch  in  the  outer 
room  startled  her  sobs  away ;  she  sat  up,  putting  back  her 
loosened  hair,  and  drying  her  eyes  in  great  haste,  and  then 
she  Hushed  red,  vrhile  her  slender  brows  contracted,  for, 
among  the  voices  now  spealdng  behind  the  thin  partition 
which  divided  her  room  from  the  oviter  one,  she  recognLsed 
that  of  Letumier.  She  expected  to  be  summoned  by  her 
father  every  moment,  never  doubting  that  this  visit  con- 
cerned her,  but  the  words  passing  between  the  men  speedily 
undeceived  her,  yet  startled  her  so  that  it  was  scarcely  a 
rehef.  She  rose  noiselessly,  and  leaned  her  head  against  the 
partition,  straining  her  ear  to  catch  each  word.  '  M.  le 
Chevalier  at  the  chateau !  Ah,  what  madness !  '  flitted 
through  her  mind  as  she  listened.  *  What  can  have  brought 
him  here — to  his  death  1'  Further  listening  told  her  that 
there  were  papers  and  sums  of  money  at  the  chateau  "which 
A.lain  de  St.  Aignan  had,  doubtless,  come  to  secure.  His 
mother  had  distrusted  Leroux,  and  so  far  infected  her 
husband  with  her  own  suspicions  that  he  had  left  the  papers 
and  money  in  a  secret  hiding-place  until  someone  whom  he 
trusted  could  fetch  them,  instead  of  sending  orders  to  his 
intendant  to  despatch  them  to  Paris  when  the  troubles  began. 
Leroux  cared  comparatively  little  for  the  money,  but  he  had 
a  Frenchman's  and  a  Celt's  intense  desire  to  possess  land ;  to 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT.  H 

o"v\'n  Chateau  St.  Aiman  ^vas  his  heart's  stronsrest  wish.  He 
hated  the  nobles,  whom  he  had  long  served  and  by  whom  he 
had  been  regarded  as  merely  a  serviceable  tool,  with  capabi- 
lities wliich  merited  the  honour  of  being  used  by  them  ;  and 
it  gave  him  indescribable  pleasure  to  have  his  turn,  and  be 
master.  The  opportunity  for  which  he  had  waited  was 
come ;  the  heir  of  St.  Aigiian  and  the  title-deeds  were  within 
his  grasp.  Edmee  understood  perfectly  what  must  be  pass- 
ing in  his  mind  ;  he  and  Letumier  vrere  arranging  with  a 
third  ally  how  a  party  of  '  good  patriots  '  were  to  be  promptly 
collected,  and  while  one  set  crossed  by  the  bridge,  anotncr 
should  take  the  shorter  way  over  the  river  in  the  milier's 
boat,  so  as  to  secure  both  approaches  to  the  chateau.  There 
was  a  moment's  debate  whether  one  party  should  go  to  the 
mill  at  once,  but  it  was  decided  first  to  call  for  the  maire, 
and  summon  him  to  accompany  them  to  arrest  the  Chevalier. 
The  maire  was  one  Martin  Gautier,  the  blacksmith  of  Vaise, 
a  jovial,  honest  fellow,  who,  having  profited  largely  by  the 
sale  of  the  convent  lands,  thought  that  the  Revolution  lind 
gone^  far  enough,  and,  in  his  heart,  feared  Leroux  and 
liCtumier  dismally.  Leroux  did  not  love  Martin  Gautier, 
and  was  glad  of  the  chance  of  showing  him  reluctant  to  for- 
ward patriotic  designs.  It  was  therefore  settled  to  fetch  him, 
and  to  have  a  cart  ready  in  which  to  convey  the  prisoner  to 
Macon.  There  was  no  need  for  a  pretext  for  arresting  him. 
His  noble  biith  was  reason  enough,  not  to  mention  that  his 
elder  brother  had  been  taken  fighting  against  his  country  in 
the  ranks  of  the  emigrants.  The  three  men  left  the  house, 
and  Edmee  stood  up  straight  and  wliite.  '  Our  dear  lady's 
son  !  And  my  father  has  betrayed  him  !  Ah,  mother,  thank 
God  you  are  not  here  to  know  it ! '  And  then  the  promise 
which  that  mother  had  bound  her  with  came  to  Edmc^o's 
mind.  '  My  father  will  find  it  out  and  kill  me.  Well,  then 
I  shall  not  inarry  Letumier!  They  shall  not  take  M.  le 
Chevalier — no,  they  shall  not.'  She  stood  an  instant,  think- 
ing :  '  Gautier's  house  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  village — • 
then  they  will  have  to  come  all  the  way  back  here,  and  so  to 
the  mill  before  they  separate.  Yes,  I  can  get  the  boat  and 
cross,  antl  then  they  must  all  go  round  by  the  bridge.  There 
will  be  time.'  . 


12  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Edmee  knew  the  trick  of  tlie  boat-chain  well ;  she  was 
sure  that  she  could   uodo   it,  and   so   cross  the  mill-pool. 
Leronx's  house  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  village,  and  she 
might  hope  in  the  gathering  twilight  to  leave  it  nnperceived, 
or  that,  if  anyone  saw  her,  it  would  be  supposed  that  she  was 
soing  to  see  her  uncle  and  aunt.     JManv,  she  knew,  would  be 
gathered  to  hear  the  Annates  ratriotiqws  read  aloud,  for 
now  newspapers  were  freely  read  in  the  village,  the  sale  of 
which  a  few  years  before  would  have  brought  a  colporteur  to 
the  gallows  and  the  listeners  to  piison.     Another  change  was 
the  active  cultivation  of  land  which    had  been  until  now 
neglected.    Edmee  had  some  reason  to  hope  that  the  villagers 
who  were  not  at  the  club  would  be  at  work  in  the  fields. 
She  crossed  the  threshold  and  looked  round.     There  was  no 
one   in   sight   but  an    old    ragged    woman,   hobbling   along 
tov.rards  her,  though  uj)  in  the  village  there  was  a  cheerful 
stir.     Madame  Leroux  had  given  many  a  bowl  of  soup  to  old 
Nicole ;  and  when  she  saw  Edmee  she  hobbled  a  little  faster. 
Edmee  quivered  with  impatience,  but  dared  not  excite  att(\> 
tion  by  hurrying  by.    And  yet  eveiy  moment  was  inestimable  ! 
'  Ah,  my  dear  heart,'  whimpered  the  old  woman,  shaking  her 
withered  head  and  reaiing  herself  on  hei'  stick  before  Edmee  ; 
'  so  she's  gone  !  she's  gone  !  and  there's  one  less  to  do  a  kind 
turn  to  a  poor  creature  like  me,  who  would   have  starved 
last  winter  but  for  her.     When  I  used  to  lie  awake  of  a 
night  and  hear  the  Avolves  howl  and  jump  up  at  the  windows 
and  fall  back  into  the  snow,  I  thought  all  night  long  of  the 
soup  I  should  get  from  her  the  next  day.     There's  no  one 
now  to  give  a  poor  body  a  bov/1  of  soup.'     Edmee  saw  that 
she  should  not  get  rid  of  the   old  woman  until    she  had 
responded  to  the  hint.     '  Sit  down,  Nicole,'  she  said,  '  I  will 
find  you  something  to  eat ;  only  I  cannot  stay ; '  and  she 
looked  anxiously  towards  the  village  from  the  top  of  the  steps 
where  she  stood.     Old  Nicole  clambered  up  one  or  two  and 
settled  herself  comfortably.     '  Ah,  you  are  Dnme  Edmonde'g 
own  daughter  ! '  said  she.     '  You  never  miss  the  chance  of  a 
good  v/ork,  and  truly,  since  the  world':^  coming  to  an  end, 
what  remains  to  us  but  to  make  our  salvation  1     But  they 
^vLll  not  let  us  even  do  that !  '  she  added,  in  a  lowered  tone. 


PLOT  AND  COUNTERPLOT.  13 

'  The  reverend  fathers  are  all  driven  out  of  the  monastery, 
and  JNI.  I'Abbe  is  in  prison  at  Macon,  and  the  King  is  dead, 
and  the  nobles  gone,  and  I  am  just  as  poor  as  ever ;  what  is 
the  nse  of  having  our  liberty,  as  they  call  it,  if  one  is  no 
better  oif  ?  But  you  will  not  tell  anyone  that  I  said  so,  my 
little  heart  1 '  added  she,  with  siidden  apprehension.  '  I  am 
only  a  poor  old  woman ;  I  don't  understand  these  tilings. 
You  are  in  haste  1     You  are  going  somewhere  1 ' 

'  Yes,  I  cannot  stay ;  I  am  going  to  the  mill.' 

'  Ah,  to  the  mill,'  echoed  Nicole,  as  if  some  unusual  thrill 
in  the  girl's  voice  had  struck  her. 

'  1  am  late ;  I  dare  not  linger.  If  you  see  my  fath  er  you 
will  not  say  anything,  Nicole  1 '  said  Edmee,  aware  that  to 
say  this  was  perilous,  but  terribly  afraid  lest,  as  Leroux 
passed  by,  Nicole  shovild  unwittingly  arouse  his  suspicions. 

'  I  understand,  I  understand,'  answered  Nicole,  I'ising, 
and  putting  down  the  empty  bowl,  with  the  self-satisfaction 
of  one  who  in  point  of  fact  does  not  understand  at  all. 
'  There  is  no  need  to  say  his  message  was  not  carried  to  the 
mill  an  hour  ago.     Farewell,  my  heart,  the  saints  keep  you  ! ' 

She  tottererl  away.  Edmee  dared  not  think  how  much  time 
had  been  lost,  but  after  one  more  scared  glance  towards  the 
village,  which  assured  her  that  as  yet  no  one  was  coming 
thence,  she  ran  down  the  moss-grown  steps,  and  hurried 
towards  the  mill,  asking  herself  as  she  Avent,  if  the  miller's 
man  were  loitering  about,  or  her  aunt  came  out,  what  pretext 
she  could  possibly  find  for  asking  to  be  put  across  the  river. 
None  occurred  to  her;  she  could  only  say  desperately  to  herself : 
'  If  I  cross  on  the  rocks,  or  wade  the  channel,  I  will  get 
over  ! ' 

No  pretext  was  needed.  Not  a  living  creature  seemed 
stirring  near  the  mUl,  and  the  boat  was  secured  at  the  edge 
of  the  pool,  where  the  water  lay  smooth  and  still,  reflecting 
the  wheel,  now  motionless,  and  the  old  wooden  house,  though 
further  down  it  rushed  furiously  over  the  great  stones  in  its 
course.  She  had  often  passed  over  the  mill-pool,  and,  un- 
loosing the  boat,  pushed  across  with  the  long  paddle  with  all 
the  force  she  could  muster.      She  could  see  the  chateau 


14  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

standing  Lalf-a-mile  off  in  the  flat  park,  dark  and  solitary,  ita 
tall  keep  standing  up  conspicuous  above  the  more  modern  part. 
Not  a  light  v/as  to  be  seen  at  any  of  the  upper  windows,  nor 
a  human  being  moving  about  it ;  for  month's  past  only  an 
old  gardener  and  hi^  wife  had  lived  in  the  chateau,  but  her 
heart  leaped  up  in  fresh  excitement  as  she  ran  towards  it,  at 
the  sight  of  a  gleam  from  a  lower  room,  where  neither  Blaise 
nor  his  wifo  were  likely  to  be.  Edmee  knew  that  it  was 
there  she  must  seek  Alain  de  St.  Aignan.  She  had  not  seen 
him  for  several  years — not  since  he  had  outgrown  his  boy- 
hood ;  she  might  not  have  recognised  him  had  she  met  him, 
but  he  was  the  son  of  one  whom  she  had  passionately  loved, 
and  her  errand  was  to  hinder  her  own  father  from  bringing 
him  to  the  scalfold.  Edmee  knew  Avell  that  a  St.  Aigiian 
would  only  lea,ve  the  prisons  of  Macon  for  the  guillotine. 
What  would  happen  should  Leroux  find  out  how  she  had 
crossed  his  purposes  she  scai'cely  thought.  Hers  was  the 
woman's  courage,  which  rises  to  confront  an  emergency,  and 
the  one  thing  in  her  mind  vras  how  to  forestall  Leroux. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   EEPUBLICAN   WEDDING. 


Alain  de  St.  Aignan  had  never  been  within  the  walls  of 
the  chateau  sin.ce  the  day  v>'hen  he  bent  over  his  mother's 
deathbed,  to  which  a  hasty  summons  had  called  him  from 
his  regiment.  The  tie  between  the  mother  and  son  had  been 
peculiarly  close  ;  as  Madame  Leroux  had  implied,  the  eldest 
son,  heir  and  representative  of  the  family,  had,  as  it  were, 
belonged  exclusively  to  the  father ;  but  Alain  was  the 
mother's  own,  the  one  who  reflected  her  views  and  disposi- 
tion, the  deepest  source  of  gladness  in  her  life.  It  had  been 
a  happy,  sunny  life,  although  she  was  married  to  a  man  much 
older  than  herself,  and   they  had   few  tastes  in   common. 


A  REPUBLICAN  WEDDING.  15 

Madame  de  St.  Ai2;nan  was  a  woman  who  found  and  made 
brightness  wherever  she  went.  Yes,  she  had  been  hap})y ; 
Alain  Icnew  it,  and  it  was  almost  the  only  thing  on  which 
he  conld  dwell  without  pain  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  silent 
chateau,  believing  that  no  one  knew  ^  of  his  arrival,  and 
waiting  for  the  protection  of  darkness  before  he  left  it.  He 
was  thinking  much  more  of  her  than  of  the  risk  he  ran  or 
of  the  business  which  bi-ought  him,  important  as  it  was,  and 
marvelling  within  himself  that  any  circumstances  could  have 
so  altered  his  feelings  that,  instead  of  the  anguish  which  had 
filled  him  as  he  bent  over  her  and  saw  the  sweet  eyes  gi'ov.r 
dim  in  death,  he  was  absolutely  thankful  that  she  was  gone. 
The  three  years  since  her  death  had  been  filled  with  so  rapid 
and  amazing  a  seiies  of  events  that  he  was  dizzy  and  be- 
wildered, and  could  see  nothing  of  whither  the  vessel  was 
drifting  amid  the  breakers,  whose  roar  told  of  the  rocks 
ahead.  But  a  short  space  before  this  wild  time  the  nobles 
had  been  everything  in  France  ;  the  whole  nation  seemed  to 
exist  only  for  them  and  the  King.  Then  a  breath  of  fteer 
air  began  to  blow ;  the  doctrine  spread  that  all  classes  bad 
equal  rights,  all  men  were  brothers  ;  and  while  it  filled  some 
hearers  with  angry  horror,  very  many  among  the  privileged 
classes  hailed  it  with  generous  enthusiasm,  and  ui'ged  it  on 
by  word  and  deed.  A  perception  of  the  ills  under  which 
France  was  suffering  seemed  to  become  suddenly  universal, 
and  the  wildest  panaceas  were  proposed  to  cure  them  ;  ^yhiIe 
no  one  saw  that  it  was  impossible  that  a  nation  trained 
under  a  despotism  should  know  Avhat  to  do  with  libei'ty.  The 
expulsion  of  the  Protestants  had  destroyed  that  industrious 
middle  class  who  would  have  had  an  interest  in  the  stability 
of  existing  things  ;  the  miserable  peasants  wei'e  ground  down 
by  taxes,  and  were  often  scarcely  more  than  serfs,  and  the 
commercial  class  were  profoundly  offended  by  the  insolence 
of  the  nobles.  All  the  social  pi^oblems,  which  had  been 
continually  growing  more  and  more  complicated  ever  since 
the  sixteenth  century,  rose  x;p,  demanding  to  be  solved  at 
once.  In  this  general  confusion  power  fell  into  the  hands  of 
men  who  had  nothing  to  lose  and  all  to  gain  by  destroying 
everyone  richer  or  nobler  than  themselves,  with  the  nation's 


16  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

sense  of  wrongs  which  had  accumulated  for  centuries  to  back 
them  up,  and  with  '  Would  you  be  free  1  then  cut  off  heads  ! ' 
as  a  watchword.  The  utter  disorganisation  throughout  the 
country  in  1793  was  indescribal)le  ;  no  one  knew  whom  to 
trust  or  what  to  do,  and  many,  through  sheer  timidity,  sided 
with  the  most  violent  in  their  neighbourhood,  by  way  of 
securing  a  character  for  patriotism.  Yet  it  was  but  a  little 
while  since  the  nobles  had  led  the  movement  towards  reform, 
and  had  voluntarily  renounced  their  titles  and  privileges. 
Alain,  while  rapidly  glancing  through  letters  and  papers, 
caught  sight  of  a  sentence  in  one  which  vividly  recalled  that 
memorable  day  when  De  Noailles  stood  up  in  the  National 
Assembly,  with  Lameth  and  Lamboine,  and  volunteered  in 
the  name  of  his  order  to  resign  hereditary  rights  and  honours. 
It  seemed  as  if  a  great  gulf  lay  between  that  day  and  this, 
as  Alain  recollected  his  own  glow  of  enthusiasm,  the  indig- 
nation ai'oused  in  him  by  his  brothei-'s  frigid  disapproval,  and 
the  pain  with  which  he  had  seen  the  ironical  smile  on  his 
father's  lips,  as  M.  do  St.  Aignan  observed,  with  a  little 
significant  gesture  :  *  We  may  give  up  our  titles,  but  we  can- 
not be  bom  again  as  roturiers  to  please  ces  messieurs  ! '  Alain 
only  then  understood  that  though  his  father  was  a  philoso- 
pher and  liberal  in  theory,  in  heart  he  was  as  utter  an 
aristocrat  as  his  eldest  son,  who  had  married  into  one  of  tho 
most  conservative  fiimilies  in  France,  and  from  the  first  had 
opposed  all  reforms  with  a  pei'sistency  which  had  early 
brought  all  connected  with  him  into  danger.  The  present 
state  of  things  seemed  amply  to  justify  him,  and  Alain  felt 
it  with  inexpressible  keenness  and  bitterness,  yet  felt  certain 
all  the  while  that  at  the  bottom  of  all  lay  right  and  justice. 
One  of  the  sharp  trials  of  the  time,  especially  to  minds  like 
his,  was  the  difficulty  of  proving  this,  even  to  himself  the 
inability  to  distinguish  between  the  early  desire  for  lawful 
reform  and  the  madness  and  anarchy  of  the  last  two  years. 
Another,  equally  keen,  was  the  deep  disunion  which  the 
Revolution  had  caused  in  families  hitherto  cordially  united. 
M.  de  St.  Aignan's  liberal  views,  or  what  he  called  such, 
molted  away  at  the  first  hint  of  danger;  but,  mere  talk 
though  they  were,  they  had  alienated  his  eldest  son,  who 


A  REPUBLICAN  WEDDING.  17 

scarcely  evei'  visited  liim,  and  would  not  even  recognise  Alain 
when  they  met ;  for  Alain  had  not  only  embraced  the  popular 
side  with  a  generous  lad's  enthusiasm,  but  upheld  it  as  he 
grew  older,  vie^dng  it  from  the  liberal  and  serious  point  of 
view  which  he  had  learned  to  take  from  his  mother's  family. 
Madame  de  St.  Aignan  belonged  to  one  of  those  great  legal 
families  who  formed  an  unimpeachable  nobility  of  their  own, 
and  had  opposed  despotism  undauntedly,  wherever  they  fomid 
it,  even  under  a  Richelieu  or  a  Louis  XIY.,  though  their 
voices  had  as  far  as  possible  been  silenced,  and  the  Parle- 
ments  of  Paris  and  the  provinces  crippled  and  shorn  of  their 
power. 

And  now  Alain  sat  alone  in  the  deserted  chateau,  his 
brother  dead,  and  his  father  attempting  to  cross  the  frontier 
and  escape  into  Switzerland,  with  a  passport  obtained  through 
the  disdainful  kindness  of  a  relation,  whom  for  some  years 
all  the  family  had  looked  on  with  indignant  coldness,  as  a 
very  black  sheep  indeed.  From  the  early  days  of  the  Revo- 
lution M.  de  St.  Aignan  had  been  bent  on  emigrating  with 
his  yoiinger  son,  and  that  Alain  should  venture  to  oppose 
him  was  to  him  the  strongest  proof  of  all  into  what  chaos 
the  world  had  returned.  "There  had  been  many  arguments 
between  them,  fuiious  on  the  one  side,  respectful  but  firm  on 
the  other.  Now,  once  more,  Alain  seemed  to  find  himself 
entirely  in  the  wrong ;  he  had  refused  to  emigrate  because 
it  seemed  to  him  a  cowardly  desertion  of  king  and  country, 
a  fatal  throwing  away  of  the  game ;  and  heie,  at  last,  he 
found  himself  oliligcd  to  yield,  and  consider  that  they  were 
only  too  fortunate  if  they  could  save  their  lives  by  this  tardy 
flight.  He  had  but  a  few  hours  to  sj^are,  and  some  of  theso 
he  intended  to  spend  in  a  hasty  journey  across  country,  to 
see  a  member  of  his  family  who  was  abiding  whatever  fortune 
might  bring,  in  strict  retirement,  though  not  absolutely  in 
hiding.  He  believed  his  presence  at  the  chateau  unknown, 
except  to  old  Blaise,  v.diom  he  trusted,  and  little  guessed  that 
while  the  daughter  of  his  greatest  enemy  was  flying  to  warn 
him,  danger  was  ap])roaching  as  rapidly  as  she.  Some  subtle 
sense  of  its  neighbourliood,  however,  tluilled  thi-ough  him  ; 
he  sat  listening  intently,  and  fancied  that  ho  heard  a  step. 


18  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Edmee  was  standing  breathless  without ;  she  saw  him  lift 
his  head,  pause,  look  round,  then,  as  if  reassui'cd,  bend  a2;ara 
over  the  packet  of  pnpcrs  which  he  was  fastening  up,  and 
then  start  as  she  tapped  with  hasty  imperative  fingers  on  the 
Avindow.  He  came  and  opened  it  at  once,  witli  enquiring 
looks.  Tlae  pale  face  recalled  nothing  to  him  ;  perhaps  he 
had  hardly  ever  looked  at  the  intcndant's  daughter,  who  was 
a  mere  child  when  he  came  to  Vaise ;  but  her  agitation, 
though  words  died  breathless  on  her  lips,  told  plainly  enough 
that  her  message  was  urgent. 

'Whom  do  you  seek,  mademoiselle?'  he  asked,  in  tho 
kind  and  coiu^tcous  voice  in  which  Edmee  secnicd  to  hear 
his  mother's  tones.  'Come  in, —  nay,'  as  she  shrank  back, 
*  you  can  scarcely  stand,  what  can  I  do  for  you  1 ' 

'  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,'  she  gasped,  letting  herself  be 
drawn  into  the  room,  and  leaning  on  the  back  of  a  high  chair 
to  save  herself  from  dropping  to  the  ground  :  '  I  came — oh, 
monsieur,  do  not  lo.se  a  moment,  they  know  that  you  are 
here,  they  come  to  take  you  to  pii.son — ' 

'  Ah  ! '  said  Alain,  changing  colour,  '  Is  it  so  ]  and  to 
whom  do  I  owe  this  warning  l ' 

'  I  am  Leioux's  daughter — oh,  do  not  linger  ! ' 

'  Leroux's  daughter  !'  said  Alain,  gathering  up  the  papers 
which  he  had  come  at  such  risk  to  seek,  '  I  owe  this  friendly 
warning  to  him  ! '  and  there  was  an  accent  of  surprise  v/hich 
showed  that  the  young  man  had  not  put  implicit  faith  in  the 
stewai  d.  There  was  no  time  for  an  answer ;  before  Alain 
could  step  through  the  window,  before  the  faint  cry  had  died 
on  Edmee's  lijjs,  a  party  of  aimed  men  dashed  open  the  door, 
while  a  second  came  suddenly  I'ound  the  angle  of  the  house, 
and  stood  looking  into  the  dimly-lighted  room,  into  wliich 
their  comrades  were  advancing  with  a  shout  of  tiiumph  at 
the  sight  of  their  prey.  Leroux  was  among  them,  and  his 
ally  Letumier  ;  behind  came  a  party  of  bare-footed,  bare- 
headed peasants,  trying  to  look  over  each  other's  shoulders  at 
the  young  noble.  Alain  had  his  hand  on  his  pistols,  but  his 
first  thought  was  how  to  shield  the  poor  girl  who  had  come 
to  warn  him  ;  he  hoped  that  in  the  gloom  she  might  escape 
unnoticed,  and  stepped  hastily  forward,  asking  what  they 
came  for. 


A  REPUBLICAN  WEDDING.  19 

*  For  soTnetliing  "which  we  have  foimd,'  answered  LctiTmicr, 
*  for  an  animal  of  an  aristocrat,  who  has  come  hei  e  to  try  how 
much  more  he  can  rob  the  nation  of  hefoic  ho  goes  off  to  onr 
enemies.  Here,  friends,  hand  me  a  lantern  ;  let  ns  see  what 
the  young  rascal  was  about  before  we  lodge  him  at  the 
expense  of  the  nation, — nay,  nay,  you  need  not  be  in  such  a 
hvirry ;  you  may  not  find  those  lodgings  exactly  what  you 
have  been  used  to,  my  ci-devant.'' 

'  He's  in  haste  to  see  all  his  ftiends  at  Macon,  but  there's 
no  feai-  of  their  i-unning  away,  except  to  look  out  of  the  little 
window  '  (guillotine),  laughed  another,  holding  up  the  lantern 
and  casting  its  unsteady  light  into  the  further  pait  of  the 
room.  '  Why,  what's  that  1 '  perceiving  that  there  was  some- 
one yet  unperceived  there,  '  a  woman  ! '  with  an  indescribable 
accent,  and  throwino;  the  sleam  full  on  the  face  of  Edm^e  as  all 
the  villagers  pushed  in,  eager  to  verify  the  fact.  '  A  girl ! 
Why,  citizen  Leroux  !'  as  they  all  reco.gnised  the  poor  girl, 
who  had  made  no  attemj^t  to  escape,  but  stood  as  she  had 
done  all  along,  in  white  despair,  '  by  St.  Guillotine  !  it  is 
your  daughter !  * 

There  was  an  instant's  dumb  amazement,  but  the  sudden, 
universal  laugh  with  which  the  villagers  recovered  from  their 
first  stupefaction  i-oused  Leroux  from  his  speechless  fury. 
Advancing  with  a  furious  curse,  he  ordeied  Edmee  to  say 
what  had  brought  her  there,  looking  at  her  with  deadly 
menace  as  words  died  on  her  quivermg  lips.  Alain  answered 
for  her :  '  Your  business  is  not  with  this  child,  but  me, 
messieurs;  I  am  ready  to  follow  you.' 

'  What,  a  man  finds  his  daughter  shut  up  in  the  dark  with 
a  young  man,  and  he  is  not  even  to  ask  what  it  means ! 
voila  Men  these  aristocrats  ! '  said  Leroux,  with  cold  fmy. 

'  Know  what  it  means  ! '  said  Letumier,  with  a  sneer, 
which  made  Alain  set  his  teeth  and  colour  hotly.  '  Not 
much  need  to  ask  that ! ' 

'  At  least  I  know  this,'  said  Leroux,  exasperated  by  feeling 
that  his  neighboui'S  were  hugely  enjoying  liis  discomfiture, 
'  that  my  house  is  no  harbour  for  traitors  to  the  nation. 
Let  the  huzzy  go  with  him  to  Macon,  since  she  is  so  fond  of 
his  company.     I  would  send  my  own  mother  to  the  guillotine 


.20  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

if  she  were  not  a  g(X)cl  Eej^ublican  !  I  would  stand  by  and  see 
her  head  fall  into  the  basket  joyfully  if  I  suspected  her  of 
abetting  the  ci-devants  !  ' 

'  Well  said,  citizen  Leroux  ! '  answered  Letumier;  '  a  true 
patriot  has  no  family  except  the  Republic' 

He  looked  round  for  applause,  and  scowled  angi-ily  as  he 
perceived  that  the  laughter  and  the  coarse  jests  which  his 
companions  had  been  showering  on  Alain  and  Edmee  had 
ceased,  and  instead  there  was  a  miirmur,  which  lashed  up 
Leroux's  fury  afresh. 

'  I  tell  you  I  mean  it ! '  he  cried,  -ndth  a  secret  fear  that 
his  daughter's  having  sided  with  the  aristocrats  would  here- 
after be  used  against  him.  '  "What  are  we  waiting  for  1 
Here  ! '  to  a  couple  of  municipal  guards,  '  take  the  scoundrel 
of  an  aristoci'at  and  this  jade  away  at  once  ! ' 

'  Good  heavens  !  have  none  of  you  an  innocent  daughter 
like  this  poor  cliild  1 '  exclaimed  Alain,  starting  between 
Edmee  and  the  guards,  who  advanced  rather  reluctantly,  look- 
ing enquii'ingly  towards  the  maii-e,  who  seemed  very  slow  to 
give  any  sign.  '  What  has  she  done  but  try  to  save  a 
stranger's  life  out  of  sheer  pity  1  1  tell  you  I  am  ready  to  go 
where  you  like — straight  to  the  scaffold  if  yovi  will — but, 
jinless  you  are  downright  fiends,  you.  will  let  the  girl  go  ! ' 

'  She  does  not  darken  my  doors  again,'  said  Leroux. 

*  As  for  that,  she  can  come  to  me,'  said  his  brother-in- 
law,  the  miller,  who  had  held  Leroux  back  with  a  sti'ong 
hand  when  he  would  have  seized  on  Edmee.  '  At  least,  that 
is ' — he  stopped  in  evident  embarrassment. 

'  Ah,  friend  miller  forgot  he  had  to  ask  Dame  Magloire's 
leave,'  said  a  voice,  and  there  was  a  general  laugh,  for  every- 
one knew  that  the  burly  miller  dared  not  lift  a  finger  without 
his  wife's  permission. 

*  Listen,  friends,'  said  the  maire,  a  man  evidently  superior 
to  the  rest,  who  had  all  along  looked  distui'bed  and  reluctant ; 
'  it  would  be  a  blot  on  our  village  if  one  of  our  lasses  had  to 
go  to  prison  as  a  bad  patriot ;  we  should  not  like  that  story 
told  in  Lcs  Yigues  or  Eoissy,  eh  1  We  should  have  them 
crowing  over  us  more  than  ever,  and  that  would  be  hard  on 
good  "patriots  like  us — we  are  all  good  pati  iots  hei-e,  is  it  not 


A  REPUBLICAN  WEDDING.  21 

so  1  "We  are  not  like  some  places,  which  have  to  send  a  dozen 
or  two  people  to  prison  to  prove  it.  Yes,  yes,  citizen  Letu- 
mier.  I  know  that  Fouche  has  reproached  us  for  having 
contributed  so  few  to  the  prisons  of  Macon,  but  what  does 
that  show  %  that  there  are  only  good  Eepublicans  among  us, 
to  be  sure.  Are  we  to  be  free  and  equal  only  to  have  Fouche 
ordering  us  about  as  if  he  were  our  seigneur  1  No  seigneurs 
for  us,  we  are  free  citizens  here !  Bah !  the  daughter  of  a 
man  lilce  the  citizen  Leroux  cannot  be  a  traitor ;  the  thing 
is  impossible — there  is  only  one  aristocrat  here ' — pointing  to 
Alain — '  well,  then,  I  have  an  idea ;  shall  I  tell  it  to  you, 
my  friends  1 '  and,  encouraged  by  signs  of  approbation  fiom 
many  of  his  audience,  he  resumed,  with  a  laugh  :  '  They  used 
to  say  in  old  days  that  man  and  wife  were  one ;  what  do  you 
say  to  our  tui'ning  an  aristoci'at  into  a  patiiot  by  mai-rying 
him  to  a  good  Republican's  daughter  1  Let  the  young 
ci-devant  marry  the  girl,  and  send  them  about  theu'  business. 
What  do  you  say  to  that  % ' 

A  loar  of  laughter  and  applause  covered  any  dissent. 
Leroux's  voice  was  inaudible.  Alain  smiled  hauecbtily  and 
answered  :  '  You  can  insult  me  as  you  please ;  my  life  is  in 
your  hands,  but  my  honour  and  my  name  are  my  own.' 

It  was  well  for  him  that  the  noise  drowned  his  words,  as 
it  did  the  faint  protest  of  Edmee.  The  maire,  who  had  come 
close  \i}>  to  him,  answered  in  a  lowered  voice,  '  You  may  talk 
of  your  lionour,  monsieur,  but  it  seems  to  a  plain  man  like 
me  that  honour  would  have  you  get  the  girl  out  of  the  scrape 
you  have  brought  her  into — well,  well,  that  she  has  run  into 
to  serve  you,  if  you  Uke  that  better.  What  is  to  become  of 
her  1    And  life  is  sweet ;  you  cannot  have  it  twice,  mind  that ! ' 

Alain  knew  it.  He  was  only  twenty-four,  and  life  was 
sweet,  even  in  all  the  wretchedness  of  the  time.  He  looked, 
as  the  maire  did,  at  Edmee,  hiding  her  face  on  the  back  of 
the  tall  chair  to  which  she  had  been  clinging,  overwhelmed 
with  shame  and  misery.  What  indeed  was  to  become  of  her  1 
He  gave  another  glance  at  the  evil  face  of  Leroux,  and  know 
that  he  could  not  leave  her  in  those  hands.  Eaising  liis  voice 
above  the  tumult,  he  said,  so  that  all  could  hear  :  '  Let  it  be 
so,  on  condition  that  you  do  not  let  auy  harm  come  to  this  girl.' 


22  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

''Bctr^r  marry  than  lose  one's  head,'  muttered  one  or  two 
sullen  voices,  but  the  maiie's  suggestion  had  taken  the  fancy 
of  the  spectators,  many  of  whom  were  more  stupid  than 
savage,  and  who  could  be  mollified  by  a  Joke  that  they  under- 
stood, and  the  miller  was  whispering  to  Leroux  :  '  Hold  your 
tongue,  man;  it  will  be  all  the  easier  to  get  the  lands!' 
Leroux  turned  a  dangerous  look  upon  liim ;  he  did  not  love 
to  have  his  secret  plans  divined,  but  in  the  dim  light  he  laid 
his  hand  unobserved  on  the  bundle  of  papers  on  the  ttible.  The 
bystanders  had  drawn  back,  making  a  circle  round  Alain, 
who  had  brought  Edmee  forward,  more  dead  than  alive,  and 
the  maire,  who  in  blue  and  red  carmagTiole,  with  his  tri-colonr 
scarf  of  office  over  it,  hurried  through  the  brief  cei-emony 
which  was  all  that  the  law  now  I'cquired  to  bind  man  and 
wife.  The  ,girl  submitted,  stupefied  with  shame  and  emotion, 
but  conscious  thi-ough  it  all  that  thus  only  could  Alain's  life  be 
saved,  wliile  Ms  chief  thought  was  that  at  all  costs  he  must 
deliver  the  innocent  creature  who  had  left  herseh"  no  protec- 
tion but  him.  He  scarcely  expected  to  be  allowed  to  go  free, 
but  he  thought  that  the  maire  meant  to  stand  by  the  poor 
gii-1,  and  was  about  to  claim  his  promise  for  her,  as  the  hasty 
cei-emony  concluded,  when,  with  a  sudden  bound  of  the  heart, 
as  if  new  life  had  rushed  into  it,  he  heard  him  say,  '  There  ! 
the  ci-dcvant  has  done  his  part,  now  let  us  do  ours,  friends 
and  fellow-citizens,  and  that  is  to  go  home,  or  rather  to  the 
"  Bonnet  Rouge,"  where  I  will  stand  treat ;  what  do  you  say  ] ' 

On  the  whole  the  villagers  were  glad  to  let  Edmee  escape, 
and  it  was  sweet  to  have  seen  both  Leroux  and  one  of  their 
seigneur's  family  humiliated  together.  They  went  off  in  good 
humour,  laughing  all  the  more  that  Leroux  and  Letumier 
were  not  among  them.  Leroux  had  refused  to  see  his 
daughter  marry  an  aristocrat,  and  had  disappeared,  followed 
by  Letumier,  before  the  ceremony  began.  The  mau-e  turned 
back  suddenly,  saying  he  had  forgotten  his  pen,  and  thus  made 
an  opportunity  to  say,  low  and  hastily  :  '  C4et  out  of  reach  as 
soon  as  possible,  M.  le  Chevalier  ;  the  temper  of  the  people 
may  turn,  and  I  should  not  be  able  to  help  you  again.  I 
have  risked  too  much  ah-eady.     Be  kind  to  this  gii-l,  she  has 


A  LONG  monrs  walk  23 

had  a  hard  life,  oneway  and  another.'    He  hastened  after  the 
others,  and  the  newly-married  pair  were  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  lY. 

A   LONG   night's   WALK. 


Edm^e  had  retiirned  to  her  former  position,  and  her  face 
was  hidden  on  the  back  of  the  chair  behind  which  she  had 
taken  refuge.  Alain  stood  looking  at  her  with  considerable 
embarrassment  and  perplexity.  It  was  impossible  to  take 
her  on  his  hasty  and  perilous  flight ;  moreover,  his  passport 
naturally  made  no  provision  for  a  female  companion,  and  to 
go  even  from  one  village  to  another  without  a  passport  was 
now  as  much  as  anyone's  life  was  worth,  under  the  terrible 
laws  passed  to  check  emigration.  After  a  short  consulta- 
tion with  himself  he  spoke,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice, 
kind  and  compassionate,  yet  cold,  made  her  start.  '  I  fear  I 
must  take  you  a  long  vray  to-night,  and  at  once.' 

'Yes,'  she  answered,  standing  up  immediately,  without 
further  question. 

'  For  both  our  sakes  there  must  be  no  delay,  but — ah  !  ' 
as  he  suddenly  perceived  the  abstraction  of  the  papers,  with 
an  instantaneous  perception  that  it  was  useless  to  seek 
them.  '  Gone !  as  I  might  have  expected ;  it  is  only  sur- 
prising that  they  have  left  me  the  money  and  jewels.     Come  ! ' 

He  held  oiit  his  hand,  led  her  through  the  window  by 
which  she  had  entered  a  short  hour  before,  and  across  the 
park ;  then  they  walked  on  silently  over  the  plain,  through 
the  moonless  night ;  myriads  of  stars  in  a  cloudless  sky  gave 
a  faint,  indistinct  light,  by  which  they  could  distinguish  the 
path  which  they  must  take.  The  smell  of  mint  and.  balm 
and  sage,  which  they  ti'od  on  or  brushed  by,  rose  into  the 
air  ;  great  moths  fluttered  by  ;  the  sharp  cry  of  a  bat  over- 
head alone  broke  the  stillness.     There  was  not  a  dwelHug  in 


24  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

sight ;  they  seemed  the  only  living  creatures  in  all  the  wide 
landscape.  In  after  years  that  silent  night-scene  often  rose 
unbidden  before  Edmee,  though  at  the  time  she  felt  too  be- 
wildered and  miserable  to  notice  anything.  Now  and  then 
Alain  spoke,  always  in  the  same  constrained  and  yet  kind 
tone,  and  once  when  she  lagged  behind  and  looked  over  the 
parapet  of  a  bridge  which  they  were  crossing,  into  the  star- 
lit water,  he  asked  if  she  were  tii-ed,  and  proposed  to  rest, 
'  No,  no,'  she  answered  hastily,  and  they  went  on  again,  lie 
could  not  guess  how  fierce  the  temptation  had  been  to 
deliver  him  and  herself  from  the  yoke  thrust  upon  them,  by 
throwing  herself  into  the  stream  which  flowed  glistening  be- 
low. '  Would  it  have  taken  long  1 '  she  wondeied  to  her- 
self in  a  dazed  way  ;  and  her  fancy  pictured  her  body  rolled 
among  the  stones  and  cai'ried  away  into  the  Saone,  as  if 
it  were  of  someone  else  she  was  thinking,  Alain  thought 
her  exhausted,  and  tried  to  make  her  take  his  arm,  but  she 
shi'auk  away  in  such  alarm  as  to  call  a  smile  to  his  lips.  He 
sought  to  re-assure  her  by  telling  her  something  of  his  plans, 
and  that  he  did  not  intend  to  oblige  her  to  accompany  him 
beyond  Mortemart,  a  place  which  she  knew  by  name  ;  but  so 
bad  were  the  roads,  and  so  small  the  communication  be- 
tween places  off"  the  beaten  ti'ack,  that  she  seemed  to  have 
no  idea  where  it  was,  although  but  a  few  leagues  from  her 
bii'th-place.  He  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  heard  of  his 
aunt,  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.  '  Certainly  !  '  she  an- 
swered, so  much  surprised  by  the  doubt  as  to  forget  her 
timidity  for  a  moment,  '  I  have  seen  her  at  the  chateau 
formerly.' 

'  "Well  then,  it  is  to  her  that  we  are  now  going.  I  had  al- 
ready intended  to  visit  her  before  leaving  France,  and  it  is 
with  her  that  I  hope  to  leave  you— in  good  hands,  my  poor 
child  :  she  is  a  Idnd,  good  woman,  who  will  take  care  of  you, 
and  never  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me.  Shall  you  be 
content  with  this  plan  1 ' 

'  Yes,  oh  yes — if  she  will  let  me.' 

'  She  owes  you  the  life  of  a  nephew  whom  she  loves,* 
said  Alain,  kindly  and  sevioiisly ;  '  she  will  receive  you  will- 
ingly— but,  ma  pauvre  petite,  I  do  not  even  know  whether 


A  LONG  NIQHT'S  WALK.  25 

we  shall  find  her  yet  safe  ;  two  days  ago  she  "was  so,  but  who 
can  count  now  on  even  twenty-four  hours  1  Mortemart  is  a 
small,  out-of-the  way  town ;  she  mo.y,  perhaps,  remain  un- 
noticed, unless  it  occurs  to  some  poor  wretch  to  earn  a  few 
livres  by  denouncing  an  aristocrat.  At  all  events,  it  is  the 
best  I  can  do  for  you.' 

'  And  you  1 '  she  summoned  courage  to  ask. 

'  I  ?  I  go  to  join  my  father ;  it  may  be  that  he  has 
already  reached  Switzerland ;  if  not,  we  meet  this  morning 
a.nd  tiy  to  pass  the  frontier  together.  If  possible,  I  will 
send  news,  but  it  grows  daily  more  perilous  for  those  who 
stay  to  have  any  communication  with  emigrants.' 

Silence  fell  on  them  again.  They  walked  on,  untU  Alain 
began  to  fear  that  his  companion's  powers  would  fail.  If  he 
had  not  hunted  constantly  over  this  district  when  a  boy,  he 
could  not  have  found  his  way  at  all ;  and  it  proved  a  longer 
and  rougher  journey  than  he  had  recollected,  especially  with 
the  encumbrance  of  a  female  companion.  Edmee  did  not 
know  whether  she  were  tired  or  not ;  she  only  wanted  to  go 
on,  and  reach  Mortemart,  and  have  this  ietc-a-tcte  over, 
whatever  reception  might  await  her  there.  As  morning 
dawned,  however,  and  its  cold  grey  light  fell  on  her  face,  she 
looked  so  wom-out  that  Alain  refused  to  go  any  further,  and, 
sitting  dov/n  under  a  tree,  insisted  on  her  resting. 

'  It  is  losing  time  ;  every  minute  is  precious,'  she  mur- 
mured ;  but  she  felt  her  strength  fail,  and  obeyed  his  desire, 
so  weary  that,  with  her  head  on  the  coat  which  he  took  off 
and  rolled  up  for  a  pillow,  she  dropped  asleep. 

Alain  sat  beside  her,  scarcely  able  to  distinguish  more 
than  a  dark  form  which  lay  under  the  shadow  of  the  tree, 
recalling  what  had  happened.  The  thought  that  but  ibr  a 
marvellovis  chance  he  should  at  this  instant  have  been  inside 
the  ])iisons  cf  Macon  filled  him  with  a  horror  such  as  he  had 
not  in  the  least  felt  when  danger  was  imminent.  He  saw 
now  what  the  risk  of  returrang  to  the  chateau  had  been,  and 
remembered  unpleasantly  his  father's  parting  words,  spoken 
lightly,  with  a  little,  sarcastic  smile,  but,  as  Alain  could  not 
but  know,  more  in  earnest  than  jest.  '  "  I  may  possibly 
have  another  son,  but  if  I  lose  my  title-deeds,  it  is  highly 


26  JfOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

improbable  that  I  shall  ever  have  any  more  of  them,"  '  mut- 
tered Alain  to  himself.     '  How  far  will  the  son  be  welcome 

without  the  title-deeds,  and  with ' 

He  looked  down  at  Edmee,  and  smiled  in  spite  of  him- 
self at  the  thought  of  what  report  he  should  have  to  make  to 
M.  de  St.  Aignan  when  they  met.     Dawn  had  come  almost 
unperceivcd  ;  he  could  now  see  the  young  face,  and  the  dark, 
sweeping  lashes  on  the  pallid  cheeks.     One  hand  was  clasped 
on  her  breast,  over  something  which  even  in  sleep  she  held  as 
if  it  were  veiy  precious.     A  lain  wondered  Avhat  it  was,  and 
then  thought  anxiously  of  the  distance  to  Mortemait,  and 
how  little  remained  of  the  time  which  he  had  intended  to  sjjend 
there.     He  knew  how  anxiously  he  was  expected,  and  how 
essential  it  was  that  he  should  go  and  come  unpeixeived.  He 
■was  unwilling  to  rouse  Edmee,  but  the  question  Avas  settled 
by  the  sight  of  someone  in  the  distance,   coming  towards 
them.     To  a  fugitive  everjthing  is  startling ;  Alain's  first 
thought  was  that  this  man  must  bring  danger  with  him.  He 
looked  earnestly  towards  the  advancing  traveller,  and  was  a 
little  re-assured  by  his  air  and  ccstume,  which  had  none  of 
the  distinctive  marks  of  a  Republican,  but  was  rather  that  of 
an  honest  workman.     He  wore  coarse,  homespun  breeches  of 
brown  cloth,  grey  stockings,  a  blue  cloth  coat,  and  a  brovvn 
woollen  cap.     There  was  a  knapsack  on  his  back,  and  he  had 
a  stout  stick  in  his  hand.     He,  too,  seemed  to  have  walked 
through  the  night,  but  he  came  along  with  a  steady,  patient 
step,  as  if  he  could  have  gone  on  all  day  too.     Alain  laid  his 
hand  gently  on  the  sleeping  girl,  lest  she  should  be  roused  too 
hastily,  and    betray,  by  some  incautious    word,    that    they 
dreaded  observation.     She  woke  with  a  bewildered,  enquiring 
gaze,  soon  passing  into  distressed  recollection ;  but,  as  with 
Alain,  the  sight  of  the  traveller,  nearer  now,  drove  away  all 
other  thoughts.     She  looked  up  hastily  at  Alain,  then  again 
at  the  stranger.    They  could  see  him  plainly  now,  and  he  had 
evidently  perceived  them  ;  his  homely  costiime  corresponded 
with  features  kindly,  honest,  and  rather  heavy  ;  aiul  the  un- 
disguised wonder  of  his  blue  eyes,  as  he  turned  them  from 
Alain  to  Edmee,  was  in  itself  re-assuring.     No  Frenchman 
but  would  have  guessed  some  part  at  least  of  their  story ; 


A  LONG  NIGHT'S  WALK.  27 

this  must  be  a  stranger,  and  tlierefore  as  little  to  Le  dreaded 
as  anyone  could  be  by  people  whose  chief  desire  was  to  escape 
all  notice.  He  stopped  when  he  reached  them,  and  asked  in 
a  strong  Swiss  accent  how  far  he  was  from  Mortemart,  then 
sat  down,  unstrapped  his  knapsack,  and  oi3ered  them  a  share 
of  the  cheese  and  black  bread  which  it  contained.  They 
accepted  gratefully  ;  neither  had  eaten  for  maily  hours;  his 
honest,  simple  expression  pleased  Edmee,  and  she  felt  his 
presence  a  relief  and  protection.  It  would  have  seemed 
more  formidable  to  be  alone  with  Alain  now  that  daylight 
had  come  than  when  they  could  not  see  each  other's  faces. 
When  they  rose  to  go,  the  Swiss  rose  too,  taking  it  as  a 
matter  of  course  that  they  were  to  join  company.  There 
seemed  no  pretext  for  avoiding  him,  nor  could  they  venture 
to  hint  how  unwelcome  an  addition  to  their  journey  he  v/as  ; 
he  strapped  on  his  knapsadc  afresh,  took  his  stick,  and  said 
in  a  friendly,  simple  sort  of  way,  '  And  since,  as  I  think, 
there  is  no  other  town  near,  we  must  be  all  going  the  same 
way  ]  So  much  the  bettor  for  me  !  I  shall  not  lose  my  way 
again,  if  you  know  the  road.' 

Edmee  had  risen,  and  gave  an  anxious  glance  at  Alain, 
who  was  debating  what  to  do,  unable  to  guess  how  unsuspi- 
cious was  the  young  Swiss,  how  inexperienced  in  all  that  was 
going  on  in  the  country  v/hose  frontier  he  had  crossed  so 
lately  with  a  light  step  and  a  hoj^eful  heart. 

'  Yes,  we  can  guide  you  to  Mortemai't,'  Alain  answered 
briefly,  with  an  inward  hope  of  somehow  shaking  off  his  un- 
welcome companion,  or  at  least  of  preventing  his  babbling  of 
their  meeting. 

They  went  on,  the  Swiss  sapng,  with  a  smile  which  gave 
a  certain  charm  to  his  homely  face,  and  lighted  up  his  frank 
blue  eyes  pleasantly  :  '  People  are  better  friends  v/hen  they 
know  each  other's  names  ;  mine  is  Bertrand  Balmat,  and  my 
peojile  are  watchmakers  near  Locle.' 

'  Swiss  !  There  are  a  good  many  Frenchmen  who  would 
be  glad  to  be  where  you,  it  seems,  do  not  care  to  stay,'  said 
Alain,  without  reciprocating  the  confidence. 

'  Ay  !  those  who  love  the  old  state  of  tilings  better  than 
the  new  !  Well,  it  leaves  the  more  room  for  those  who  want 
to  go  to  Palis,  like  me.' 


28  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  To  Paris  !  *  repeated  Alain,  astonished,  for  to  bim  Paris 
seemed  a  vast  trap,  whence  eveiyone  was  tnang  to  escape. 

'  Yes  ;  you  see,  it  has  not  boon  altogether  cr.sy ;  we  are 
poor,  and  for  a  long  time  my  father  and  uncle  said  there  was 
only  folly  in  it ;  but  by-and-by  they  saw  there  was  nothing 
else  to  be  done.  I  could  not  put  any  heart  into  watchmaking, 
though  it  has' been  in  our  family  ever  since  the  trade  was 
known  in  the  country  ;  so  they  have  let  me  go.' 

' But  for  what  end  ?' 

*  Why,  to  be  a  painter ! '  answered  the  Swiss,  turning 
astonished  eyes  on  his  questioner,  as  if  the  tiling  were  so  clear 
to  him  that  it  must  needs  be  so  to  eveiyone  else. 

'  Ah  ! '  said  Alain,  amused  by  the  na'iv  simjilicity  of  his 
comi^anion.     '  And  under  whom  shall  you  study  ? ' 

'  David  !'  said  Balmat,  with  an  intonation  of  pride  and 
satisfaction,  as  if  to  utter  the  very  name  were  an  honour. 
Very  different  was  the  effect  which  it  produced  on  the  Cheva- 
lier de  St.  Aignan.  '  David !  David  the  — '  he  scarcely 
suppressed  in  time  the  word  '  regicide.' 

'  Yes,  Louis  Charles  David,  the  regenerator  of  art,  our 
great  master  ! '  said  Balmat,  Avith  beaming  eyes. 

'  You  have,  no  doubt,  introductions  to  lim  1 '  said  Alain 
coldly,  and  after  a  }:)ause  in  which  he  struggled  with  the  re- 
collection that  this  David,  whom  the  Swiss  seemed  to  recjard 
as  something  superhuman,  was  one  of  those  who  had  voted 
the  death  of  Louis  XVI.  that  year. 

*  No,  none — how  should  I  ?  But  I  shall  show  him  my 
drawings,  and  ask  leave  to  join  his  pupils.  I  have  never 
had  the  chance  of  paintiag  ;  I  have  only  drawn  with  chalk 
and  fusain — that  is  yet  to  come.' 

There  was  such  honest,  joyful  confidence  in  his  voice  and 
look  that  Edmee  could  not  help  giving  him  a  sympathising 
smile.  She  had  been  lookincr  with  ^reat  interest  at  him 
ever  since  he  amiounced  his  vocation.  He  had  won  her  full 
confidence,  and  she  would  have  had  no  fear  in  asking  him  to 
say  nothing  about  them.  Alain,  however,  taldng  it  for 
granted  that  a  would-be  pupil  of  David's  must  share  the 
painter's  political  views,  was  increasingly  peqiilexed.  '  But 
since  you  are,  no  doubt,  desirous  of  reaching  Paris  quickly, 
why  linger  at  Mortemart  1 '  he  suggested. 


A  LONG  NlOnrS  WALK.  29 

'Tliat  is  true.  Monsieur,  but  what  would  you  have?  one 
cannot  walk  all  the  way  to  the  capital  without  a  halt.  I 
thought  to  make  a  short  cut  last  evening,  and  lost  my  way, 
walking  on  till  a  lad  told  me  an  hour  ago  that  this  Morte- 
mart  was  the  nearest  place  to  eat  at — and  so  I  go  there. 
Besides,  I  have  hurt  my  foot,  and  must  look  to  it,  lest  I  get 
laid  up,'  and  Alain  then  observed  what  Edmee  had  seen 
already,  that  the  young  man  was  walking  rather  lame. 

*  I  conclude  your  papers  are  all  right,'  he  said,  rather 
abruptly ;  '  these  are  not  times  to  travel  in  without  them.' 

'  Undoubtedly,  Monsieur  !  It  would  be  folly  indeed  to 
risk  being  delayed,'  said  Balmat ;  and  Alain  saw  that,  simple 
as  he  seemed,  he  had  some  of  the  shrewd  sense  of  his  country- 
men. 

'  You  know  no  one  in  Mortemart  % ' 

*  No,  Monsieur,  how  should  11'- 

'  My  good  friend,  let  me  give  you  a  piece  of  advice ;  call 
no  one  by  that  title  if  you  wish  to  live  long  enough  to  be 
famoiis,  or  even  to  reach  Paris  ! ' 

'  Bien  ! '  answered  Balmat,  quietly,  but  with  a  glance 
which  took  in  both  Alain  and  Edmee.  '  I  thank  you  for  the 
warning.' 

'  You  have  yet  to  leam  France,'  said  Alain,  with  some- 
thing of  an  apology  in  his  tone  ;  '  these  are  days  when  a  care- 
less word ' — he  stopped,  by  no  means  sure  that  he  was  not 
guilty  of  uttering  just  what  he  had  condemned,  for  it  had 
come  to  such  a  pass  that  no  one  felt  sure  that  the  man  he 
spoke  to,  were  he  an  old  friend,  might  not  denounce  him. 
Balmat  made  no  reply ;  his  wondering,  reflective  look,  could 
Alain  have  read  it,  said  that  he  found  himself  in  a  world  of 
new  ideas,  of  which  he  could  make  nothing.  As  yet,  France 
was  to  him  merely  a  country  which  had  shaken  off  a  yoke  of 
slavery,  and  the  land  where  lived  David,  in  whose  atelier  he 
should  learn  to  be  a  painter.  If  rumours  had  reached  his 
native  village  of  how  the  Revolution  was  working,  they  had 
not  interested  him  enough  to  enter  his  mind. 

'  You  will  find  no  inn  open  at  such  an  hovir,'  said  Alain, 
who  had  at  last  decided  what  course  to  take.  '  It  will  be  best 
that  you  come  with  me — us.  A  relation  expects  me,  who  will 
gladly  entertain  you.' 


30  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  Thants,  citizen,'  answered  Balmat,  looking  at  Alain  with 
IX  smile,  as  he  showed  that  he  had  profited  by  tho  lesson  re- 
ceived.    '  I  will  go  with  you  gladly.' 

Used  to  the  simple,  cordial  hosj)itality  of  his  own  country, 
he  saw  nothiiig  surprising  in  the  invitation,  which  Alain  gave, 
thinking  that  it  could  bring  no  danger  on  Mademoiselle  de  St*. 
Aignan,  or,  indeed,  might  tell  favourably  for  her,  should  it  be 
known  that  she  had  received  a  guest  on  his  way  to  Paris  and 
David,  and  understanding  enough  of  the  man  with  whom  he 
had  to  deal  to  feel  that  he  would  scarcely  betray  those  who 
had  shown  him  hospitality. 

'Are  we  near  Mortemarf?*  Edmee  asked,  with  a  beating 
heart.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  spoken  voluntarily. 
The  prospect  of  facing  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  and  hear- 
ing her  story  told  was  growing  veiy  terrible. 

'  Yonder  ! '  said  Alain,  looking  on  into  what  was  still  lost 
in  the  dimness  of  very  early  morning.  Edmee  could  only  see 
bare  hills,  whose  summits  were  so  fantastically  broken  into  bat- 
tlemented  crags  that  at  first  she  thought  them  a  line  of  ruins. 

'  Have  they  been  pulling  down  all  the  chateaux  here  1 '  she 
asked  in  alarm  ;  but  even  as  she  spoke  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun  ro.S3  over  the  hill-tops,  casting  a  yellow  light  on  their 
bleak  slopes,  and  into  the  mist  rising  in  the  valley,  and  mak- 
ing all  the  dew-drops  sparkle  on  the  gossamers  spread  over 
the  ground.  '  It  is  growing  late,'  said  Alain,  quickening  his 
pace,  as  he  looked  towards  Mortemart,  still  nearly  half-a-mile 
away,  clusterLag  over  a  little  hill.  The  house  of  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  was  on  the  outskirts ;  it  had  belonged  to  her 
family  for  a  considerable  time,  but  had  never  been  used  by 
them,  until,  after  the  death  of  Alain's  mother,  her  life-long 
fiiend,  she  had  removed  there,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  and 
discomfiture  of  her  brother,  to  whose  opinions,  however, 
neither  then  nor  at  any  other  time  had  she  ever  been  known 
to  pay  any  attention.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was 
something  of  a  Republican,  as  at  one  time  were  many  women 
of  i-ank  in  Fi'ance,  but  with  her  it  was  not  a  mei'e  mtitter 
of  fashion ;  liberal  views  suited  her  turn  of  mind  and 
slightly  sceptical  temperament,  and  her  influence  had  told  on 
Alaili.  As  yet  she  had  lived  unmolested,  and  had  ventured 
on  communicating  occasionally  with  him.     The  house  stood 


A  LONG  monrs  walk  31 

in  a  great  shady  garden,  with  high  walls  round  it,  over  which 
Konie  tall  trees  raised  their  heads  ;  but  on  one  side  it  com- 
municated by  a  court  with  tlie  street.     Alain  avoided  this 
way  of  approacliing  it,  and  turned  under  the  wall,  below  which 
vras  a  steep  slope,  Avith  a  small  rapid  stream  at  the  foot  of  it. 
There  was  a  small  door  in  this  wall,  but  it  had  only  been 
used  to  descend  to  the  stream  by,  when  a  boat  war,  wanted  ; 
and  no  one  had  reqiured  the  steps  leading  down  to  the  water 
for  so  long  that  they  had  fallen  into  ruins,  and  no  path  led 
over  the  steep  and  slippery  turf  eml^ankment.     It  was,  how- 
ever, along  this  slope  that  Alain  intended  to  conduct  his  com- 
panions, hoping  to  enter  unperceived,  and  before  anyone  in 
the  town  or  fields  was  astir.     Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
as  he  knew,  had  but  one  old  servant,  having  made  her  reduced 
fortunes  the  welcome  pretext  for  dismissing  all  the  others, 
without  offending  them.     Alain  made  a  hasty  explanation  to  • 
Balmat  as  they  took  this  unexpected  way,  instead  of  entering 
the  town,  and  saw  the  eyes  of  the  young  Swiss  fix  steadily 
upon  him,  with  a  kind  of  wondering  thoughtfulncss,  wliich 
seemed  a  reproach.     He  stood  suddenly  still.     '  Listen,  my 
friend,'  he  said ;    *  after  all  I  know  not  whether  I   am  not 
brinoins  vou  into  danger.  .  .  .  You  aie  a  Swiss,  therefore  one 
of  a  nation  who  cannot  betray  a  man  who  trusts  you.    I  must 
not  be  seen  here ;  my  papers  might  chance  to  be  less  en  re-fh 
than  yours,  were  they  inspected.     I   must  place  this — this 
lady ' — he  looked  at  Edmee — '  in  safety,  and  get  away  as  soon 
as  may  be.     Perhaps  ij;  were  better  to  pait  ftom  us,  even  if 
you  wait  till  morning  in  the  street,  than  mix  yourself  in  our 
affairs.' 

It  was  hurriedly  and  loyally  said,  and  Edmee  looked  up 
with  proud  satisfixction.  Balmat  thought  for  a  moment,  as  if 
it  were  too  much  the  habit  of  his  mind  to  deliberate  for  an 
instant  decision  to  be  possible  to  him  ;  then,  with  what  Edmee 
secretly  called  ce  bon  sourire  he  said,  in  the  calm,  slow  voice 
which  accorded  well  with  his  turn  of  mind  :  '  Why,  would  you 
have  me  miss  my  first  chance  of  being  useful  to  you  1  How  are 
you  going  to  get — her — over  this  slope  %  Is  it  not  true  that 
a  Swiss  foot  is  wanted  1  Come,  then  ' — he  evidently  could 
not  tell  whether  to  say  Madame  or  INIademoiselle,  and  com- 


32  NOBLERSE  OBLIGE. 

promised  it  by  '  Citoyenne ' — '  take  my  hand ;  this  stick  will 
steady  iis.* 

Edmce  gave  her  hand  gladly ;  it  was  much  easier  to  let 
herself  be  helped  and  guided  by  this  stranger  than  by  Alain, 
who  went  fii'st  and  opened  the  door  by  a  key  which  his  aunt 
had  contrived  to  send  him.  It  opened  so  easily  that  it  was 
evident  that  measui-es  had  been  taken  to  cause  those  old 
liinges  to  turn  noiselessly ;  and  the  three  stood  within  the 
garden  and  looked  towards  the  house.  A  window  on  the 
ground-floor  had  a  light  burning  in  it,  and  they  could  sec  tLat 
there  was  someone  sitting  at  a  table,  on  which  an  untouched 
meal  was  spread.  All  through  the  long  night  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  had  watched  with  increasing  anxiety,  and  hope 
sinking  lower  and  lowei',  as  the  hovirs  went  by  and  no  one 
came.  She  was  by  no  means  a  nervous  woman ;  but  this 
night  every  rustle  in  the  leaves  or  flutter  of  a  bird  had  made 
her  start  and  gaze  out,  until  at  last  she  said  to  herself:  *  He 
will  not  come  ;  he  camiot,  it  is  too  late.  I  ought  not  even 
to  wish  for  it  now.     But  what  can  have  happened  1 ' 

Terrible  question  in  those  days  !  and  her  imagination  was 
not  far  astray  when  it  pictured  him  discovered  and  arrested ; 
but  in  its  wildest  flight  it  would  never  have  suggested  how 
he  had  been  delivered. 


CHAPTER  V. 

EXPLANATIONS. 


*  No,  he  will  not  come.  But  what  has  happened  1 ' 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was  repeating  to  herself,  just  as 
two  figures  stood  outside  the  window ;  and  raising  her  eyes, 
full  of  tears,  she  started  in  joyful  surprise  and  hurried  to 
admit  them.  '  Alain  !  my  dear  boy  !  at  la.st ! '  she  exclaimed, 
for  the  fii'st  moment  seeing  nothing  but  him ;  and  then  per- 
ceived the  slender  shrinking  girl,  whom  he  held  by  the  hand, 
she  added,  in  great  wonder,  '  You  are  not  alone  ! ' 

'  No,  dear  aunt ;  here  is  one  whom  I  must  leave  to  yoitr 


EXPLA  NA  TI0N8.  33 

care,  whom  3011  will  shelter  gladly  for  my  sake — one  to  whom 
I  owe  my  liie,  and  who  is  my  wife.' 

'  Your  wife  ! '  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aiman, 
but  then,  seeing  the  imploring,  voiceless  gesture  of  Edmee, 
who  was  trembling  so  that  she  could  scarcely  stand,  she 
added,  with  grave  kindness  :  '  My  cliild,  I  need  ask  no  more  ; 
my  nephew's  wife,  even  without  such  a  claim  of  having  t;avcd 
his  life,  is  welcome  to  me.' 

*  Ah,  mademoiselle,  if  I  might  tell  you — if  you  would 
make  him  undei stand,'  fiiltered  the  poor  girl,  slirinking from 
the  kind  embrace,  and  almost  choking  with  the  teai'S  sup- 
I)iessed  till  now — '  it  is  not — I  .".m  not ' 

'  She  is  Av'oin  out,'  said  Alain,  in  answer  to  a  keen,  dis- 
Quieted  look  from  JMademoiselle  de  St.  Aiajnan :  '  we  have 
walked  from  St.  Aignan.' 

'  Worn  out !  doubtless,  and  the  only  thing  is  now  to  let 
her  rest,'  said  the  aunt.  '  Come,  cliild,  there  aie  some  things 
for  which  there  is  no  cure  but  sleep.  My  boy,  I  shall  soon 
return,'  she  added,  leading  away  the  passive  Edmee,  but  with 
sometliing  in  her  voice  which  told  how  much  it  cost  her  to 
lose  a  moment  wdth  him. 

'But  listen,  dear  aunt,'  said  Alain,  conscious  that  Balmat 
was  waiting  in  the  garden  outside,  '  I  have — bah  !  she  is 
gone,  and  what  am  I  to  do  with  my  Swiss  1  Well  ! '  and  ho 
shrugged  his  shoulders  at  the  complicated  difficulties  in  which 
he  found  himself.  '  My  friend — he,  Balmat !  come  here,  and 
profit  by  what  the  gods  send  you — a  shelter,  and  food,  and  a 
moment  to  eat  it  in.  My  aunt  will  soon  return,  aaid  mean- 
v,^hi^-e  let  us  lose  no  time.' 

Balmat  entered  at  the  call,  and  looked  round  with  pleased 
interest,  noting  everything,  from  the  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece, in  which  he  probably  felt  a  professional  interest, 
to  Eousseau's  '  Devin  du  Village,'  \jmg  open  on  a  little  harp- 
sichoid. 

'  There  is  no  tolling  what  may  be  useful  som.e  day  in  a 
picture,'  he  said,  in  an  explanatoiy  way  to  Alain,  and  then, 
gravely  folding  his  hands,  and  bowing  his  head,  said  a  short 
grace  aloud  and  reverently,  unconscious  of  Alain's  amused 
wonder,  which  gave  i^lace  an  instant  later  to  a  gi'avc  and 


34  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

softened  look.  The  manner  and  action  of  the  young  Swiss 
had  recalled  lessons  learned  at  his  mother's  knee,  and  moved 
Mm  much.  He  had  scarcely  taken  liis  place  at  the  table 
when  the  tap  of  Mademoiselle  dc  St.  Aignan's  high  heels  was 
heard,  and  she  I'e-entered,  saying,  '  I  would  hear  notliing 
from  that  poor  tired  child,  but  now — ah  !  another  ! '  she  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  perceiving  Balmat,  and  turning  looks  of 
coustei-nation  and  wonder  on  her  nephew ;  '  ISIonsieur  !  I  am 
happy  to  see  you.  My  nephew's  friends  are  all  welcome,* 
she  added,  as  Balmat  lose  and  bowed  respectfidly ;  but  there 
was  an  irresistibly  comic  expression  in  her  fiice,  as  she  looked 
at  Alain,  as  if  to  demand  how  many  more  guests  or  connec- 
tions she  might  expect. 

'  No  friend,  madame,  only  a  fellow-traveller,  whom  Mon- 
sieur youi"  nephew  has  kindly  brought  here  for  an  hour's 
i-est/  said  Balmat,  looking  with  dclif.hted  ndmiration  on  a 
face  whose  high-bred  charm  and  dignity  were  a  revelation  to 
him.  '  He  must  have  much  to  say  to  you,  and  httle  time  to 
spare ;  so,  with  your  leave,  I  will  take  my  supper  into  the 
garden,  and  finish  it  thei-e.  It  is  too  good  to  leave  altogether,' 
he  added,  with  wistfulness  wliich  provoked  her  to  laughter. 

'  I  had  forgotten  that  anyone  could  laugh,'  muttered 
Alain  to  himself,  looking  with  a  sort  of  curiosity  at  iiis  aunt, 
and  hardly  able  to  believe  that  the  last  months  could  have 
gone  by  without  alteiing  her.  He  had  met  women,  and 
men  too,  in  Paris,  changed  beyond  recognition  by  the  anguish 
and  terror  that  had  been  concentrated  into  a  few  weeks.  But 
Llademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  had  hitherto  lived  a  compara- 
tively sheltered  life,  and  there  was  still  the  beautiful  bloom, 
the  clear  blue  eye,  and  gay  smile  which  made  her  in  middle 
age  perhaps  more  fascinating  than  in  girhsh  freshness. 
Alain's  heart  warmed  as  he  looked  at  her. 

'  Nay,  monsieur !  let  me  see  you  both  eat,  and  then,  if 
you  will,  there  is  a  sofa  at  your  disposal  in  that  little  room, 
where  you  might  rest  before  leaving  us ;  it  is  scarcely  day 
yet,'  she  said,  suppi-essing  her  sti'oug  desu-e  to  have  her 
nephew  to  herself,  and  hear  at  full  length  the  story  wliich  she 
would  not  let  the  exhausted,  weeping  Edmee  tell  her. 

Balmat  readily  accepted  the  invitation  to  remain,  but  his 


BXPLANATIONS.  35 

hostess  was  strongly  tempted  to  repent  it,  as  lie  proceeded 
through  his  deliberate  meal.  She  stilled  many  sighs  of  im- 
patience, and  could  hardly  refrain  fi'om  ordering  him  off  long 
before  he  rose,  said  gi'ace  again,  and  retiied,  as  she  had 
recommended,  to  the  room  and  the  sofn.,  wheie  sleep  fell  vipon 
him  long  before  Alain  had  given  an  outline  of  his  story. 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  listened  with  deep  interest,  her 
unusual  gravity  showing  how  much  she  was  moved. 

'  Yes,  yes,  you  did  right ;  you  could  not  have  done  other- 
wise,' she  said,  as  he  paused.  '  The  poor  child  !  But  what 
will  my  bi other  say.  Chevalier'? ' 

She  turned  a  half-humorous  look  on  Alain,  who  could 
only  shrug  liis  shouldei's  again  by  way  of  reply. 

'  To  get  uo  title-deeds  ;  ah  !  I  suppose  that  villain  Leroux 
must  have  swept  them  off — they  disappeaied  in  the  confusion, 
you  say  'I — and  to  have  instead  a  daughter-in-law,  whom  he 
had  not  counted  on — 'tis  a  little  hard,  one  must  own;  but  ho 
will  console  himself  by  saying  it  is  no  marriage.' 

*  I  know  that,'  answei'ed  Alain  in  a  low  voice. 

'  No  more  it  is,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  turning 
on  him  quickly.     '  And  you '] — ' 

'  Noblesse  oblige,'  was  Alain's  answer. 

'  That  is  ti-ue.  Chevalier,  so  true  that,  if  I  knew  where  a 
priest  coidd  be  found,  I  should  say  have  it  all  made  fast  once 
for  all ;  but  since  that  cannot  be — ' 

'  And  since  she  cannot  possibly  share  my  flight,  I  can 
only  leave  her  hei'e  with  you  until  I  return,  and  Heaven 
knows  when  that  will  be  ! ' 

'  Yes,  her  home  is  here,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 
*  You  have  done  right  to  bring  her  to  me,  since  yoiu'  mother 
is  no  more.' 

She  was  a  proud  woman ;  in  spite  of  her  liberal  views  she 
had  the  calm,  innate  pride  of  one  nobly  born,  with  uncon- 
tested rights  and  privileges,  who  smiles  in  serene  amusement 
should  anyone  ia  his  ignorance  question  them  ;  but  it  never 
occurred  to  her  as  jiossible  that  Alain  should  not  stand  by 
the  promise  which  he  had  made,  though  to  neitlier  did  tliis 
civil  marriage  seem  binding.  '  As  long  as  I  can  I  will  shelter 
the  cliild.' 


3fi  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  You  liavenot  bcsn  molested  1  Ko  one  has  tlireatcned  you  ? ' 

*  ITo,  they  leave  ine  in  peace,  as  yet.  I  have  had  a  long 
time  of  qviet,  for  anyone  who  is  spared  an  hour  in  these  days 
may  coxint  it  a  yeai-,'  she  sai'd,  with  a  look  and  tone  wliich, 
though  they  replaced  but  for  an  instant  her  usual  smiling  and 
philosophical  cheeifulness,  told  unmistakably  how  she  looked 
on  the  prospects  of  the  future. 

'And  you  are  resolved  to  remain?  You  are  convinced 
that  it  is  wise  ]  JMy  father  has  urged  emigration  from  the 
first,  would  have  gone  long  ago  had  I  consented,  and  since 
the  King's  death  ....  Yes,  I  must  go,  wliile  you  stay ! ' 
said  Alain,  full  of  bitterness  at  the  thought  of  liyiiig  when  a 
woman  refused  to  do  so. 

'Oh!  my  brother!'  said  Mademoiselle  do  St.  Aignan,  at 
no  pains  to  con;eal  her  opinion  tliat  it  mattered  very  little  to 
anyone  but  himself  whether  Monsieur  de  St.  Aignan  went  or 
stayed.     '  He  has  only  himself  to  please  ;  but  for  you  and  me, 
nephew,  it  was  difi'erent.     You  know^  I  have  never  favoured 
Coblentz — never  could   see  that  the  way  to  sti-engthen  the 
throne  was  to  leave  it  unsupported,  nor  that  to  convince  the 
people  we  loved  France  as  well  as  they,  we  should  run  out  of 
the  country,  or  come  back  in  arms  against  it.     But  mind 
you,  I  tliink  now  that  you  have  no  clioico  but  to  go.     You 
have  stayed  till  tlie  last  possible  moment,  and  your  father  will 
not  stir  without  you.     He  cannot  stay  ;  he  will  go  oat  of  his 
wits  from  slicer  terroi-  of  the  guillotiue  and  the  molj.    I  laiow 
him.     You  must  have  gone  through  some  stormy  discussions 
with  him,  my  poor  Chevalier  !    Ah,  I  wonder  when  we  shall 
meet  again  !     Well,  after  all,  I  would  not  have  you  take  the 
part  that  your  cousin,  De  Pelven,  has ;  tu-st  hand  and  glove 
wir^h  the  Palais  Eoyal,  and  now,  it  seems,  a  Jacobin ;  what 
does  your  father  say  to  that  ?    Why,  five  years  ago  I  i-ecollect 
his  marching  out  of  the  room  at  one  door  because  De  Pelven 
had  come  in  by  another  ! ' 

'  De  Pelven  warned  me  that  my  father  was  to  be  arrested.' 

'  De  Pelven  !    There  is  some  good  left  in  him  then  I    Did 
you  see  him  1 ' 

'  Yes,  he  came  to  me  at  night,  and  asked  our  jilans.     I 
told  him  that  my  father  wished  nothing  better  than  to  leave 


EXPLANATIONS.  37 

France,  but  that  he  was  equally  set  on  securing  the  money 
and  title-deeds  left  at  the  chateau.' 

'  And  then  1 '  asked  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  with 
some  suspicion. 

'  He  agreed  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary,  and  we  con 
certed  means  for  my  father's  leaving  Paris,  and  waiting  for 
me  on  the  fiontier.    Immediately  after  tliis  I  got  your  letter, 
and  loft  Paris  a  day  sooner  than  I  had  intended,  to  gain  time 
to  see  you.' 

'  De  Pelven  knew  tins  1 ' 

'  No,  T  had  no  means  of  letting  him  know,  and  it  was 
needless.  Communication  with  suspected  persons  like  ourselv  es 
could  only  bring  him  into  danger.  He  had  done  liis  utmost 
— moi'e  than  I  could  have  possibly  expected — unasked  too.' 

'  Yes.  I  do  not  understand  it.  It  is  not  like  De  Pelven,' 
muttered  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  to  herself.  '  Well,  tell 
me  your  plans  as  far  as  you  know  them,  and  what  chance  I 
have  of  hearing  from  you.' 

Little  enough,  it  seemed,  for  to  communicate  with  an 
emigre  was  risking  life.  Alain  could  only  say  that  his  father's 
plan  was  to  aAvait  in  Switzeiland  what  turn  events  might 
take.  Such  a  tempest  as  tlais  must  naturally  cease  ere  long 
— ^its  very  \-io'ence  forbade  its  lasting. 

'  I  cannot  tell,'  was  all  MadcmoLselle  de  St.  Aignan's 
answei%     . 

There  was  so  much  to  hear  and  to  tell  that  all  seemed  yet 
to  be  said  when  the  pai'ting  could  no  longer  be  delayed.  The 
brief  hour,  wliich  was  already  more  than  could  safely  be 
snatched,  was  gone.  Both  rose  up  for  what  they  knew  might 
be  a  last  farewell ;  Alain  was  very  pale,  and  tears  trembled 
in  the  eves  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aiornan. 

'  Fai'ewcll,  my  boy,  my  dear  boy  !  God  keep  you  !  I  will 
do  my  best  with  the  poor  child.  I  wish  you  went  out  a  free 
man,  but  as  it  is,  I'ccollect  what  you  owe  her.  Ah  !  I  had 
forgotten ;  she  would  not  be  calmed  until  I  had  promised  to 
give  you  this.' 

A  lain  I'ccognised  with  astonishment  a  morocco  case  which 
he  had  keenly  regretted  having  left  at  St.  Aignan. 


3S  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  My  mother's  miniature  !  This  then  was  what  she  was 
holding  !    How  did  she  come  by  it  1 ' 

'  I  asked  no  questions ;  I  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  to 
return  to  you,  but  she  lias  a  will  of  her  own,  that  slender 
child — she  held  me  fast  till  she  had  made  me  hear.  "  'Tis 
marraine,"  she  said,  "  and  tell  him  he  is  free  " — so  I  took  it, 
and  promised  ami^hing  she  liked.' 

'  Marraine  ! '  repeated  Alain,  looking  up  from  the  minia 
ture,  at  which  he  had  been  gazing  with  moistened  eyes. 

'  Yes — do  you  not  lecoUect  that  Leroux's  wiie  was  a 
faA^ourite  of  your  dear  mother's  ? — and  this  child — what  is 
her  name "? ' 

'  Upon  my  word  I  do  cot  know ! '  said  Alain,  laughing 
and  colouring.  '  It  was  said  when  we  went  through  our 
parts,  wdth  the  Maiie  for  a  priest,  and  a  tricolour  scarf  for 
his  vestments ;  at  least  I  suppose  so,  but  I  cannot  recall  it. 
It  is  too  absurd  not  to  Icnow  one's  wife's  name  ! ' 

And  so,  glad  to  cover  emotion  with  a  smile,  they  pai-ted, 
Alain  to  endeavour  to  make  his  way  through  a  thousand 
dangers  to  the  rendezvous  where  Monsieur  de  St.  Aignan  was 
vituperating  his  delay,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  to 
rouse  and  get  lid  of  her-  Swiss,  before  his  presence  should  be 
perceived,  and  cause  enquiries  which  might  lead  too  far.  He 
gratefully  accepted  both  the  piovisions  Avliich  she  offe]-ed,  and 
her  proposal  to  bandage  his  foot,  and  there  was  something  in 
his  simple,  cheerful  wa^  which  rested  and  refreshed  her, 
while  calling  up  a  smile  of  amusement.  She  felt  as  many  a 
care-worn  man  or  woman  does  on  coming  in  contact  with  an 
innoL'fjQt  child,  to  wliom  the  anxieties  and  pains  of  life  are 
things  unknoAvn,  and  vrillingly  gave  him  a  few  moments,  now 
that  they  were  not  taken  from  Alain,  to  listen  to  his  short 
history,  and  ho]5es  for  the  future,  though  her  thoughts  now 
strayed  to  her  nephew,  now  to  the  means  of  procuring  from 
the  Maire  of  Mortemart  a  permit  for  Edmee  to  remain,  with- 
out entering  on  dangerous  explanations.  Balmat  had  had 
Eepublican  prejudices  against  aristocrats,  but  they  melted 
away  like  the  snow  of  his  native  country  under  the  Fohn 
before  he  made  liis  adieux,  and  set  out  for  iParis,  Kttle  dream- 
ing when  and  how  they  were  to  meet  again,  but  with  Ms 


EDMEE  FINDS  A  FRIEND.  39 

imagination  full  of  his  charming  hostess,  and,  though  liis 
natural  discretion  had  prevented  him  from  asking  a  single 
question,  some  wonder  as  to  the  connection  between  the  yonng 
noble,  as  he  was  quite  shrewd  enough  long  since  to  have  per- 
ceived Alain  to  be,  and  the  silent  girl,  who  seemed  to  skrink 
from  his  eye,  and  avoid  his  touch. 

'  Bah  !  there  are  strange  things  in  this  France  ! '  Balmat 
said  to  himself,  and  his  mind  turned  again  to  art  and  David, 
as  he  stepped  oiit  along  the  endless  white  road,  bordered  by 
elms,  which  stretched  on  and  on,  and  would  not  end,  but  was 
in  time  to  lead  to  Paris  and  to  fame. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

EDMEE     FINDS     A     FRIEND. 


Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  returned  to  Edmee  with  the 
problem  still  unsolved  of  how  she  was  to  account  for  her 
presence,  Avithout  a  passport,  at  a  time  when  no  one  was  per- 
mitted to  stir  until  numerous  tedious  formalities  had  been 
gone  through,  tliough  it  were  but  from  one  village  to  another. 
The  withdrawal  of  the  numerous  families  who  had  emi- 
gi\ated,  which  at  first  had  been  looked  on  with  savage  joy,  or 
contempt,  was  now  perceived  to  have  greatly  impoverished 
the  country;  and  the  knowledge  that  the  e7?a^?*es  were  appeal- 
ing to  foreign  powers  to  invade  France,  and  saw  no  treason 
in  fighting  their  countrymen,  had  roused  a  vindictive  fury 
equally  fatal  to  the  suspected,  whether  they  stayed  or  atr 
tempted  to  escape.  And  it  was  hard  to  say  who  was  not  now- 
suspected.  The  Kevolution,  with  its  just  protests  against 
time-honoured  abuses,  its  thrilling  declaration  that  all  men 
were  brothers,  had  become  a  war  of  class  against  class,  a 
tyranny  such  as  the  world  had  never  yet  seen,  though  it  had 
had  many  a  warning  of  what  must  come,  if  the  ruling  classes 
persisted  in  blinding  their  eyes  and  shutting  their  ears,  and 
the  Church  coldly  looked  on,  or  actively  aided  and  abetted. 


40  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

There  was  a  line  of  care  on  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignau's 
forehead  as  slie  songjit  Edmee.  She  had  revolved  many 
schemes  in  vain.  Once  she  had  thought  of  i-equesting  the 
maire  of  JMoitemart  to  come  to  her,  but  rejected  the  idea, 
feeling  that  so  great  a  jiersonage  would  naturally  expect  her 
to  go  to  him,  a  step  which  would  excite  too  much  attention 
in  the  little  town,  and  to  which,  moreover,  she  could  not  make 
up  her  mind,  for  to  stand  as  a  sujijiliant  before  her  grocer, 
maire  though  he  might  be  now-a-days,  was  moi-e  than  s!io 
could  quite  swallow.  To  send  Edmee  with  a  plausible  story 
suggested  itself,  but  the  appearance  of  a  stranger  would  excito 
as  much  enquiry  as  if  ]Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  herself  had 
been  seen  on  her  way  to  the  mairie,  and  besides  Edmee  might 
be  betrayed  into  jjerilous  admissions — perilous  both  to  her- 
self and  others.  The  line  of  care  was  very  marked  as 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  entered  the  room  where  she 
expected  to  find  the  girl  sleeping,  but  Edmee  lay  with  wist- 
ful, open  eyes,  and  sprang  up  at  once  as  her  hostess  came  in, 
exclaiming,  'Ah,  mademoiselle,  did  you  tell  him?  Does  ho 
understand  % ' 

'  I  gave  him  your  message,  my  child.' 

'  And  he  sees — he  knows  I  never  supposed  he  would  be 
bound  to  me?  that  I  knew  he  would  be  free?  It  was  to  save 
liis  life  that  I  consented.  No  one  could  hold  it  a  real 
marriage,  and  if  it  were,  they  say  that  anyone  can  have  a 
divorce  now.     You  have  told  him  so  1 ' 

■  '  You  are  very  anxious  to  be  free,  my  poor  child  ;  perhaps 
there  is  someone  to  whom  you  would  be  more  willuig  to  be 
bound  1 '  said  Mademoiselle  do  St.  Aignan,  unable  to  under- 
stand the  gii'l's  passionate  vehemence. 

'IV  she  answered,  in  such  uncomprehending  siu-pri.se, 
that  the  suspicion  was  silenced  at  once.  '  I  was  not  thinldug 
of  myself ! ' 

'  How  came  you  to  ti-y  to  save  him,  child  1  How  did  you 
know  of  liis  danger?' 

'  I  heard  ....  people  planning  to  seize  him  ;  they  said  he 
was  at  the  chateau,  and  I  thought  of  marraine,  and  how  I  had 
pi'omised  my  mother  always  to  do  what  I  could  for  a  St.  Aignan.' 

'  Your  mother — is  she  living  1 ' 

*  No,  she  was  bui  ied  last  week,'  said  Edmee,  lifting  her 


EDJIJ^E  FINDS  A  FRIEND.  41 

eyes  witli  so  strange  an  expression  of  triumph,  and  almorsfc 
rejoicing,  that  IMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was  much  startled. 

'  Cliild  !  did  you  not  love  her,  then  ? ' 

'  Love  her  % '  was  Edmee's  astonished  answer.  '  Did  yon 
ask  if  I  loved  my  mother,  mademoiselle  1 ' 

'  It  would  not  seem  that  you  grieved  over  her  death  1 ' 

'  'No,  I  did  not — how  could  11  I  was  glad  when  she  was 
in  her  grave,  for  even  he  could  not  torment  her  there,'  said 
Edmee,  in  a  voice  low  indeed,  but  thrilling  v.'ith  such  inex- 
tinguishable i-esentment  that  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
started,  and  thought  within  hersf^.lf,  '  What  sort  of  man  can 
this  Leroux  be] '  but  she  said  aloud,  in  a  tone  of  reproof,  'I 
am  called  over-liberal  by  some,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  I  have 
an  old-fashioned  belief  that  children  should  honour  ajid  love 
their  parents.' 

'  They  should,  no  doubt,  mademoiselle,'  said  Edmee, 
seriously,  and  without  any  attempt  at  justifying  herself,  and 
her  hostess  felt  it  useless  to  pursue  the  subject. 

*  You  have  not  yet  told  mo  your  name,'  she  said. 
'Edmee,  mademoiselle.' 

'  Ah !  my  dear  si'-ter-in-law's  name.  And  you  are  her 
godchild  1 ' 

'  Yes,'  and  the  smile  wluch  for  the  fii-st  time  illumined  the 
gii'l's  wan  face  was  a  revelation  to  ivlademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 

'  Ah  !  you  are  a  Berrichonne,'  she  said,  contemplating  her 
attentively,  and  begirsjiing  to  perceive  a  promise  of  beauty  in 
the  features  noAV  wliite  and  thin,  but  with  great  purity  of  out- 
line, and  pei-haps  possessing,  at  a  happier  moment,  the  fair  and 
rosy  complexion  often  seen  in  Bei-ri,  and  said  to  be  traceable 
to  those  English  iiavaders  who  long  occupied  the  province. 

*  Yes,  my  mother  was  from  Berri,  like  marraine.' 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  noticed  the  tender  tone  in 

which  this  last  word  was  always  spoken  by  the  girl.  It 
attracted  her  towards  Edmee,  and  she  took  her  hand,  and 
said,  '  You  were  very  fond  of  my  sister,  child  1 ' 

'  Ah,  yes.  Yon  cannot  guess,  mademoiselle,  what  para- 
dise it  was  to  visit  the  chateau  ;  how  lovely  evervthing  was, 
and  she  most  of  all !  I  tliink  that  a  queen  could  not  have 
been  more  beautiful ! ' 

'  And  yon  sometimes  met  my  nephew  there  1 ' 


42  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  I  have  seen  him,  of  course,  hvit  not  for  several  years 
not  since  my  dear  man-aine — ' 

'  True — true — he  has  not  been  there  since  her  death,'  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  looking  at  Edmee  with  puzzled 
cuidosity.  '  It  was  then  for  her  sake  that  you  ran  the  lisk 
of  warning  him  1 ' 

'  Surely,  mademoiselle,'  answered  Edmee,  quite  as  much 
puzzled  in  her  turn. 

'But  if  you  had  been  discovered  after  he  escaped  ?■ ' 

'  Yes,  I  know,'  she  said,  shuddering  far  more  now  than 
when  the  danger  was  present,  and  she  added,  as  if  in  haste  to 
change  the  subject, '  I  recollect  once  seeing  you  at  the  chateau 
— you  came  into  the  conservatories. — Mademoiselle,  is  the 
Swiss  painter  here  still  1 ' 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  could  not  see  the  connection 
between  this  question  and  what  had  gone  before,  though  it 
was  qidte  clear  to  Edmee. 

*  No,  he  went  soon  after  my  ne^ihew  left  me.' 

'  JNIonsieur  le  Chevalier  is  gone ! '  There  vv^as  mingled 
relief  and  dismay  in  Edmee's  voice. 

'  Yes.' 

'  Ah  !  dear  mademoiselle,  it  is  very  hard  for  you  1 '  said 
Edmee,  with  a  shy,  caressing  gesture.  'And  you  have  m« 
instead,  whom  you  did  not  want.' 

'  T]iat  is  the  very  ching  I  came  to  talk  to  you  about,  my 
little  one.  You  are  here  without  passports  or  papers  of  any 
kind  to  sliow  your  identity  ;  it  is  very  perilous  for  you.' 

'  And  for  you  1 '  Edmee  asked  quickly. 

'  For  us  both ;  especially  if  your  connection  with  my 
nephew  be  discovered.  If  Ave  only  knew  anyone  who  would 
answer  for  your  patriotism — ' 

'  I  am  not  a  patriot,  mademoiselle — I  hate  patriotism  ! ' 

'  Silly  child  !  what  do  you  know  aliout  it  1 ' 

'  Mademoiselle,  the  seigneurs  may  have  done  wicked 
things,  and  treated  us  ill,  but  they  never  could  be  such 
tyrants  as  peo^^le  of  my  class  -will  make  if  they  get  the  upper 
hand  ;  I  know  how  some  of  them  ride  their  own  families  ! ' 

'  You  are  more  of  an  ai  istocrat  than  the  nobles  them- 
selves, petite.     But  we  are  as  far  as  ever  from  the  point  of 


EDMEE  FINDS  A  FRIEND.  43 

hoAv  to  explain  your  presence  here  to  Monsieur  le  maire,  or 
even  to  my  old  Nanon ;  it  is  true  that  she  is  deaf  and  pur- 
blind, which  is  why  I  kept  her  in  prefei-ence  to  any  of  her 
fellow-servants,  but  she  is  unfortunately  not  blind  enough  not 
to  see  you  at  all,  and  I  would  not  have  her  chatter  of  gnests 
arriving  here  iu  the  night.  Bah  I  I  was  never  meant  for  a 
conspirator !  I  have  left  all  the  I'emains  of  our  meal  en 
evidence ;  I  must  go  and  remove  them.' 

'  Let  me  help  you,  mademoiselle,  do  let  me  help  you ! 
Have  you  really  no  servant  but  this  Nanon  % ' 

'  And  so  much  the  better,  child !  Do  you  think  I  am  less 
happy  because  I  have  no  valets  or  lady's  maids'?  I  have 
breathed  more  freely  ever  since  they  all  went,  and  we  parted 
civilly.  Many  a  one  would  be  glad  to  be  quit  of  them  all,  if 
it  could  be  done  without  danger.  It  does  not  do  to  offend  a 
person  who  may  walk  off  and  denounce  you,  and  yet  one 
cannot  exactly  feel  easy  when  one  knows  that  one  has  half-a- 
dozen  spies  under  one's  roof !  Come,  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Nanon  should  soon  be  stirring.' 

'  Mademoiselle,'  said  Edmee,  as  they  went  downstairs  to 
remove  all  traces  of  the  guests,  '  might  I  not  go  quietly  out, 
and  ring  at  your  door  as  if  I  had  j  ust  ai-rived  1  I  could  say 
to  Nanon  that  I  had  no  friends  to  whom  to  go,  and  that  as 
your  family  had  formerly  been  kind  to  me — ah,  how  true 
that  is  ! — I  had  come  here.     She  cannot  Avonder  at  that.' 

'  It  seems  the  best  plan  for  the  moment,'  said  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  relieved  even  by  this  poor  expedient ; 
and  just  then  they  heard  old  ISTanon's  heavy  step  overhead. 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  hastened  back  to  her  own  room, 
after  cautiously  letting  Edmee  pass  through  the  couit,  into 
the  yet  silent  and  empty  street,  where  she  stood  for  a  few 
moments,  looking  i-ound  her.  It  was  always  a  silent,  gloomy 
sti-eet,  and  the  high  walls  of  a  conA^ent  rose  opposite.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  the  blank  expanse,  thankful  that  thei'e 
wei-e  no  windoAVs  Avhence  curious  gazers  might  j)ei'ceiA^e  her. 
The  couA^eut  Avithin  Avas  inAdsible,  but  had  all  its  AvindoAVS 
overlooked  her,  no  one  Avould  have  appeai'od  at  them,  for  the 
nuns  Avere  all  scattei'cd,  some  in  England,  others  in  Belgium, 
and  some  in  the  graA^es  Avhither  the  guillotine  had  sent  them. 


44  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Further  on  she  saw  the  '  hotel '  of  some  noble  family,  but  the 
arms  carved  in  stone  above  the  dooiway  were  mutilated  by 
recent  violence.    Beyond  came  the  '  Place.'  with  a  desecrated 
cJiurch  on  one  side  and  old  houses  and  shops  filling  up  the 
three  others.     Edmee  had  no  time  to  observe  more  than  that 
the  garden  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  almost  reached 
the  church ;  she  feared  to  linger,  and  rang  the  bell  Avith  a 
hasty  hand.     Ko  one  answered  it ;  either  jSTanon  had  not 
heard,  or  did  not  choose  to  hear.       She  rang  again,  and  then 
a  Little  old  figure  came  out  of  the  house,  and  peered  suspi- 
ciously out  at  the  '  grille,'  with  a  sidelong  look,  turning  the 
least-deaf  ear  a  little  upwards.     Edmee  tried  to  give  the 
explanation  which  she  had  prepared,  but  only  got  a  peevish 
shake  of  the  head  for  answer,  and  a  sign  to  go  away.     She 
tried    laisuig    her    voice,   with    no    better   effect.     It   was 
necessary  to  have  recoui-se  to  pantomime,  and  this  succeeded 
bettor,  for  the  gate  was  a  little  unclosed  by  Nanon's  skinny 
hand,  and  Edmee  slipped  in,  and  followed  the  old  woman, 
who  went  before  her,  shaking  her  head  and  mumbling  to 
herself.     iSIademoiselle  de   St.  Aignan  met  thorn.     '  Why, 
whom  have  you  there,  Kanon  1 '  she  asked  in  the  cheery, 
distinct  voice  which  the  deaf  ears  Avere  used  to,  and  which 
reached  them  readily. 

'  How  should  I  know,  mademoiselle  1  she  was  at  our  gate, 
and  woidd  not  <ro  awav,  and  it  is  not  well  to  call  notice  on 
oneself  now-a-days,  so  I  let  her  in ;  and  perhaps  she  will 
speak  to  you,  though  she  does  nothing  but  mumble  when  I 
tiy  to  imderstand  her,  so  that  there  is  no  hearing  a  v.'oixl  she 
says,  and  mademoiselle  knows  I  hear  well  enough.  Do  I  ever 
fail  to  hoar  her  1 ' 

*  jSTo,  neA'er,  my  good  ISTanon.  But  what  are  we  to  do 
Avith  this  child  ]  You  see  she  says  that  she  has  lost  her  last 
friend,  the  poor  little  thing,  and,  having  knoA\"n  my  family 
formerly,  has  sought  me  in  her  trouble.' 

'  We  must  let  the  maii-e  knoA\',  and  show  her  papers, 
mademoLselle.  But  people  should  not  come  unasked  thus  j 
it  makes  talk  in  a  place ;  it  is  not  fail-  on  quiet  folks,  Avho 
only  want  to  be  foi'gotten,'  said  Kanon,  surA  eying  Edmee 
with  mingled  dislike  and  suspicion.      '  Where  does  she  come 


EDM^E  FINDS  A  FBIEKD.  45 

fromi  Does  mademoiselle  really  know  lier'?  She  must 
think  of  herself  and  me,  and  not  be  too  kind-hearted — it  is  a 
great  fault  to  be  too  kind-hearted.' 

'  iSot  one  of  yoxirs,  my  poor  ITanon ! '  murmured  her 
mistress,  adding  aloud,  '  She  belongs  to  a  family  I  have 
i : no \vTi  for  years ;  but  she  came  in  such  haste  that  she  has 
uo  papers,' 

Kaaon  s  "wi-inkled  face  became  purple  with  angry  alarm. 
'  Come  heie  without  her  papers  !  Holy  Vii-gin  ! '  she  ex- 
claimed, her  voice  rising  to  a  shrill  scream.  '  She  will  bring 
us  all  to  piison  ;  she  cannot  stay,  mademoiselle ;  she  must  go 
this  instant ! — Go,  then,  go,  cruel,  wicked  girl ! ' 

'  But  where  is  she  to  go  to,  Nanon  ?  she  has  no  home.' 

'  Mademoiselle,  is  it  any  I'eason  because  she  has  no  home 
that  we  are  to  have  no  heads  1  and  so  it  will  be  if  we  keep  a 
girl  with  no  permit.  Ah,  blessed  saints  !  why  did  I  let  her 
inl  You  little  huzzy,  what  business  have  you  to  bring 
danger  on  harmless  people,  who  never  saw  you  be^^re,  nor 
wanted  to  see  you  1  Is  it  not  enough  already  that  made- 
moiselle is  an  aristocrat,  without  more  danger  ?  But  go,  then, 
I  say!' 

'  Hush,  hush,  Kanon,  the  child  has  come  to  me  in  her 
trouble,  and  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  arrange  as  best  we  can 
for  her  safety.' 

'  Does  mademoiselle  mean  that  she  is  resolved  to  keep 
herr 

'  Undoubtedly,  l^anon.' 

'  Then  she  must  excuse  me,  but  I  leave  her.  It  is  not 
everyone  who  would  run  the  risk  I  have,  by  serving  a  noble ; 
one  ought  to  tliink  more  of  oneself  than  I  have  ever  done.  I 
hear  it  often  said  that  I  am  no  good  patiiot,  and  that  I  eat 
the  bread  of  aristocrats.  Until  now  I  have  boi-ne  this, 
mademoiselle,  but  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  gens  sans 
avsu.     I  go.     You  may  choose  between  us.' 

'  Ah,  this  must  not  be  ! '  began  Edmee,  in  great  distress ; 
but  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  silenced  hea-. 

'  Hush ,  my  child ;  no  one  shall  dictate  whom  I  do  or  do 
not  welcome  in  my  own  house;  and  Nanon  will  think 
better  of  tliis — before  she  leaves  the  only  person  likely  to  put 


46  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Tip  with  her,'  she  added  in  a  lower  tone.  Perhaps  Nauon's 
ears  were  not  so  deaf  as  she  chose  to  make  out,  or  else 
inilignation  sharpened  them. 

'  Mademoiselle  is  very  good,  but  she  may  find  herself  mis- 
taken,' she  retoi'ted.  '  I  hope  that  this  pale-faced  thing  may 
be  as  useful  to  her  as  I  have  been,  and  bring  no  trouble  on 
her  ;  but  as  for  me,  adieu,  ladies ; '  and,  making  her  little 
bent  figure  as  erect  as  she  could,  Nanon  marched  out,  leaving 
her  mistress  and  Edmee  looking  at  each  other.  Her  steps 
were  heard  about  the  house  for  some  time,  as  she  gathered 
her  possessions  together ;  then  the  outer  door  was  opened, 
and  shut  with  a  bang  full  of  angry  protest,  and  all  was  still. 
Naiion  had  executed  her  threat. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aiguan  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
Edmee  was  surprised  to  see  as  much  amusement  as  vexation 
ia  her  face.  '  Can  you  cook,  petite? '  was  all  she  said,  after 
a  few  moments'  silence.  '  Ah  !  that  is  well ;  we  shall  not 
starve,  at  all  events,  unless  the  butcher  decline  to  supply  an 
aj'istoci-at.  By  the  afternoon  we  shall  have  surely  hit  out 
some  plan  for  your  safety.  Old  Nanon  would  have  left  me 
sooner  or  later,  as  matters  grew  more  threatening,  and  her 
sense  of  duty  to  herself  stronger.  Now  let  iis  attend  to  our 
household  affairs.  I  might  have  been  left  without  you  to 
help  me,  and  what  should  I  have  done  then  1  It  is  not  so 
easy  for  me  to  move  briskly  about  as  for  some,'  she  added, 
laughing ;  '  I  have  too  much  emhonqioint,  and  I  cannot  walk 
fast  in  my  high-heeled  shoes,  nor  at  all  without  them.  That 
alone  shows  I  was  not  iatended  for  a  flight.  Now,  then, 
child ;  that  we  must  eat  and  drink,  and  attend  to  daily 
trifles,  is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  one  in  one's  senses  now-a- 
days.' 

'May  I  gather  a  bouquet  for  yoiu^  salon,  mademoiselle'? ' 

'  Surely — you  are  fond  of  flowers  then  ? ' 

'  Yes,  oh  yes  !  Do  you  recollect  an  old  flower-j^ainter 
who  used  to  come  to  the  chateau,  and  give  marraine  lessons 
in  painting?  I  used  to  sit  by  her  sometimes,  in  the  conserva- 
tory, and  watch  him,  and  wish  so  much  that  I  could  do  it 
too !  Marraine  let  me  try,  and  he  was  very  kind  to  me, 
though  I  was  but  a  troublesome  little  thing  then ;  he  gave 


EBMEE  FINDS  A  FRIEND.  47 

me  two  briTshes  and  some  colours,  to  keep  me  honest,  he  said, 
one  day  when  he  found  me  hiding  a  brush  which  he  had 
dropped ;  I  did  want  it  so  much,  and  I  was  only  a  child  then ' 

'  What  are  you  now,  petite  1 ' 

'  Ah,  mademoiselle,  I  never  was  really  a  child,  if  feeling 
free  and  happy  means  that.  Even  when  I  was  at  the 
chateau  it  was  always  hanging  over  me  that  I  must  go  home 
by-and-by.  J]ut  those  wer©  good  days.  He  said  I  could 
paint  if  I  had  lessons.  I  have  tried  ever  since,  but  without 
teaching  one  cannot  do  much.  Do  you  remember  him, 
mademoiselle  ?  a  M.  Delys  1 ' 

'  Yes,  I  have  seen  him,  and  I  have  heard  my  sister  speak 
of  him.  We  must  somehow  get  you  colours  and  brushes, 
my  child,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  well  pleased 
with  these  innocent  confidences,  and  glad  "to  be  able  to  like 
the  gill  without  an  efibit. 

'  Ah,  you  are  too  good  ! '  she  answered,  with  beaming 
eyes.  '  First  of  all  I  wanted  to  do  what  marraine  did,  and 
then  it  was  such  pleasuie  ;  one  saw  so  many  things  in  the 
ilowers  which  one  never  did  till  one  tried  to  copy  them. 
After  the  chateau  was  shut  up,  I  could  still  go  and  paint  ia 
the  conservatories ;  old  Pierre  kept  them  in  order,  and 
marraine  had  always  given  me  a  present  on  my  bij-thdays,  so 
I  was  able  to  buy  canvas  and  colours,  when  anyone  went  to 
Palis,  or  came  back  to  .the  village.' 

'  That  could  not  have  happened  often,  I  imagine.' 

'  Pai'don,  mademoiselle  ;  Jean  Croz,  one  of  the  valets  at 
the  chateau,  used  sometimes  to  visit  his  old  mother,  and  he 
was  a  good-natured  man,  and  would  manage  to  get  what  I 
wanted.' 

'  And  your  father  could  procure  mateiials,  for  doubtless 
he  sometimes  went  to  see  my  brother  in  Paris  ? ' 

'  He  did,  mademoiselle.' 

'  Then  you  could  entrust  your  commission  to  him  1 ' 

Edmee  made  no  answer  at  all,  and  her  silence  was  eloquent. 

'  Child,  tell  me  what  he  did  to  you  1  did  he  beat  or  ill- 
use  you  1 ' 

'  Never,  mademoiselle.' 

'  Then  how  did  he  treat  you  1 ' 


48  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  He  made  us  live  every  moment  of  the  day  and  night  in 
fear,'  answered  Edmee. 

'  Well,  I  suppose  that  is  the  worst  cruelty,  and  the 
hardest  to  forgive ;  but  times  are  strangely  out  of  joint,  and 
the  closest  ties  seem  snap]:)ed,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  half  to  herself.  '  There,  we  will  not  talk  any  more 
about  it.' 

The  morning  passed  cheerfully  enough ;  if  INIademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  were  uneasy,  she  did  not  show  it,  and  made 
Edmee  feel  so  safe  and  at  case  v/ith  her  that  the  girl  thought 
a  ntnv  life  was  beginning  for  her.  The  sense  of  relief  on  lier 
mother's  account  was  stronger  than  that  of  her  loss,  and  she 
had  only  shared  the  sufferings  of  the  cowed  and  unhappy 
woman,  without  ever  finding  support  or  guide  in  her.  All 
the  happiness  that  she  had  ever  experienced  had  come 
throud'h  the  St.  Aignans  ;  it  seemed  perfectly  natur.al  to  find 
herself  with  one  of  that  family,  and  it  vras  unspeakably 
blessed  to  laiow  that  her  father  had  no  knowledge  of  whither 
she  had  f'ed.  There  was  an  elasticity  in  her  step,  and  a 
light  in  hei'  eyes  as  had  hardly  ever  been  thei'e  before,  as  she 
moved  about  the  silent  old  house,  glad  to  feel  herself  of  use, 
and  looking  with  ever  new  pleasure  into  the  fine  face  of 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  with  its  kind  looks.  It  was 
sweet  to  Lave  saved  Alain,  and  ke|:)t  lier  Avord  to  her  mother, 
and  the  civil  marriage  appeared  more  and  more  unreal  now 
that  he  v/as  out  of  sight ;  although  the  circumstances  of  her 
life  had  prevented  her  from  knowing  the  light-heartedness  of 
childhood,  in  many  things  Edmee  was  a  child  stilL 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FRIEND    OR    foe] 


One  of  the  occuj)ations  of  that  morning  was  converting  part 
of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  wardrobe  into  garments  for 
Edmee,  who  found  herself  totally  unprovided,  and  was  some- 


FRIEND  OR  FOE?  49 

wliat  distressed  at  usino;  for  herself  materials  wliich  the 
customs  of  the  times  conliiied  to  tliose  of  liigher  station  than 
herself,  and  the  remarks  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  that 
they  now  belonged  to  the  same  station,  when  she  ventured  a 
timid  objection,  did  not  reconcile  her  to  the  necessity.  She 
covild  not  feel  that  she  belonged  in  any  way  to  the  upper 
ranks,  or,  rather,  she  vehemently  refused  to  believe  it.  That 
hasty  ceremony  could  have  made  no  real  difference ;  she  was 
still  only  Edmee  Leroux.  Indeed,  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  had  much  the  same  feeling,  and  could  as  yet  scarcely 
realise  that,  had  titles  still  existed,  this  gu'l  was  Vicomtesse 
de  St.  Aignan.  Her  nephew  was  in  fact  novv^  Vicomte  de 
St.  Aignan,  his  brother's  death  haAong  given  liim  that  title, 
though  she  still  thought  of  liim  as  the  Chevalier. 

It  was  while  both  were  engaged  with  needlework  that  a 
ring  was  heard  at  the  door.  A  biief  debate  as  to  who  had 
better  open  it  was  settled  by  the  danger  of  appearing  to  In'de 
Edmee ;  she  went  to  the  grille  of  the  court,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  see  no  formidable  official,  no  one  who  looked  as  if 
he  belonged  to  Mortemart ;  but  a  well-dressed  gentleman, 
though  to  u-ear  clean  linen,  or  look  like  a  man  of  birth,  was 
liighly  dangerous ;  the  air  and  manner  accorded  with  the 
dress,  and  there  was  something  not  unfamiliar  in  the  voice 
which  asked,  '  Is  the  citizen  Alain  here  1 '  adding,  as  she 
evidently  did  not  recognise  the  name  by  which  Alain  had 
been  known  since  '  de '  and  *  St.'  alike  fell  under  a  ban,  '  the 
Chevalier,  I  would  say.' 

'  ISTo,  monsieur,'  answered  the  startled  Edmee. 

'  Tliis  girl  is  lying,'  was  the  nev%'^-comer's  secret  comment, 
as  his  keen,  light-grey  eyes  noted  her  changing  colour. 

'  That  is  unfortunate,  mademoiselle,  for  I  am  a  near  re- 
lation come  to  see  liim  on  business  very  important  to  him. 
Has  he  been  long  gone  ? ' 

'  Has  he  been  here  then,  monsieur?' 

'  But  that  is  what  I  desire  to  know,  and  I  imagine  that 
you  can  answer  the  question  better  than  I.' 

'  I  do  not  know  you,  monsieur.' 

'  True,'  he  answered,  smiling  at  tlic  naive  answer  which 
unconsciously  admitted  the  fact  it  sought  to  liidc.     '  I  am 


50  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

called  Pelven.  Ask  your  .  .  .  mistress'- — lie  gave  her  a 
doubtful,  uncertam  glance — '  if  she  will  ses  me.' 

'  IMonsieur  will  excuse  me  if  I  shut  the  giille,'  said  Edmee, 
and  she  secured  it  before  she  went  away,  leaving  De  Pelven 
in  the  street.  There  was  no  time  to  delibeiate  over  his 
message,  wliich  greatly  troubled  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 

'  De  Pelven  here !  De  Pelven !  what  can  have  brought 
liim  ?  Yes,  fetch  him  instantly.  Alain  spoke  of  him  as  acting 
a  friendly  part ;  but  yet — make  haste,  child ;  let  me  hear 
what  tins  means.' 

She  showed  no  sign  of  emotion,  however,  when  M.  de 
Pelven  entered,  bowing  with  grave  courtesy  as  he  said,  '  My 
cousin,  it  is  many  years  since  we  met;  may  I  hoi^e  that  you 
still  remember  me  ? ' 

'  Certainly  I  do ;  you  are  welcome,  monsieur,  thougn  I 
little  expected  to  see  you  in  our  quiet  town,  when  there  are 
such  stirring  scenes  in  Paris,  where  you  play  such  a  success- 
ful pai-t.' 

Do  I  owe  this  kind  report  to  the  Chevalier,  my  cousin  % ' 
asked  De  Peh'en,  acceptinq-  fhp>  oncipliment  with  a  bow  and 
smile,  as  if  spoken  in  all  good  faith..' 

'  My  nephew  ?  I  slioukl  have  suj^posed  that  you  knew 
as  little  of  his  movements  as  T.' 

'  I  confess  to  you,  dear  mademoiselle,  that  one  of  my  ob- 
jects in  coming  here  was  to  find  him.  It  is  of  the  utmost 
impoitance  that  I  should,  and  that  at  once.' 

'  But  he  is  not  here.' 

'Ah,  that  is  most  unfortunate,'  said  De  Pelven,  with 
a  glance  at  once  so  penetiuting  and  i-apid  that,  while  it 
scrutinised  her  face  closely,  even  a  watchful  observer  would 
not  have  noticed  it.     '  I  will  be  frank  with  you — ' 

'  Then  I  know  he  is  trying  to  deceive  me,'  muttered 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  to  herself. 

'  You  must  at  least  be  aware  of  his  resolution  to  leavf 
France,  less,  as  T  know  well,  on  account  of  any  danger  thaa 
to  satisfy  his  father,  whose  mind,  it  seems,  threatened  to  give 
way  under  the  risks  he  thought  he  ran,  and  the  death  of  the 
Yicomte  strengthened  this  .  .  .  this — ' 

'  Delusion  r 


FRIEND  OR  FOE?  51 

*  Delusion,  then,  or  fear,  and  there  was  truth  enough  in 
it  to  make  me  desirous  of  helping  them  to  leave  France.' 

'  Yet,  as  I  hear,  it  is  so  dangerous  to  help  anyone  out  of 
the  way  of  losing  his  head,  that  you  yourself  must  have  run 
considerable  risk,  monsieur  1 ' 

'  Even  if  it  were  so,  mademoiselle,  I  was  bound  to  do  it ; 
I  am  the  next  heir  to  Monsieur  le  Comte  and  the  Che- 
valier,' answered  De  Pelven  with  a  louK  and  tone  which 
made  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  say  to  herself, '  That  sounds 
true  .  .  .  that  is  well  said  .  .  .  after  aJ,  I  know  nothing 
against  him  except  his  politics.'  'Well,  cousin,'  and  the 
increase  of  friendliueso  in  her  manner  was  apparent,  '  after 
thatr 

'  After  that,  mademoiselle,  lieing  pi  o  .ided  with  papers, 
they  left  Paris — unexpectedly.  You  know  my  opinions,  and 
will  understand  that  I  had  been  distinctly  assured  that 
neither  Monsieur  le  Comti?  nor  his  son  would  use  this  oppor- 
tunity to  conspire  against  the  Eepublic,  iijr  convey  commu- 
nications to  any  refugees.' 

'  That  was  but  fair.' 

'It  was  but  fair—  precisely,  but,  unfortunately,  the  con- 
ditions were  not  carried  out.  A  plot  harj  been  discoveied  in 
Palis,  one  of  many  which  have  been  detected  of  late — to 
liberate  the  Queen — I  ^vill  not  oflend  jou  bv  refusing  her 
that  title— ' 

*  Do  not  speak  to  me  of  her,  monsieui  !  When  I  think 
of  what  she  has  undergone,  I  cannot  an  ;wer  for  myself !  I 
am  ashamed  that  I  belong  to  the  courtly  and  the  nation 
who  have  insulted  her  as  a  queen  iind  toitured  her  as  a 
woman  ! ' 

'  In  spite  of  all  precautions,  letters  have  been  obtained, 
signed  by  this  poor  lady,  to  her  own  fciuily,  and  to  cer-tain 
Royalists,  now  in  exile — they  wei-e  confided  to  Monsieur  le 
Comte  and  his  son.' 

'  Impossible,  monsieur  ;  I  tell  you  it  is  impossible  ! ' 

'Alas,  mademoiselle,  it  is  precisely  tl.o  imjiossible  wliich 
is  most  often  true.  There  is  no  doubt  aliout  it.  Had  these 
gentlemen  not  quitted  Paris  earlier  than  1  was  led  to  expect," 
we  shoidd  know  more.' 


52  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

M.  de  Pelven's  voice  had  never  altered  from  its  calm  and 
level  tone,  and  only  at  tliese  last  words  did  a  momentary 
spark  kindle  in  his  grey  eyes.  It  was  quenched  in  an 
instant,  but  had  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  seen  that  look 
of  vindictive  and  deadly  hatred,  she  would  have  needed  no 
further  revelation  of  his  feelings,  but  she  was  overwhelmed 
with  consternation. 

'  You  are  sure  1 — yoxi  cannot  be  mistaken  1 '  she  asked, 
with  the  shame  and  anger  of  an  honourable  woman,  wlio 
feels  family  disgi-ace  as  if  it  weie  her  own.  '  It  must  be 
possible,  then  ;  my  brother  must  have  held  that  his  duty  as 
a  Eoyalist  was  superior  to  any  he  could  owe  Republicans, 
but  Alain  at  least  had  no  share  in  it  j  Alain  knew  nothing 
whatevei'  my  brother  did  ! ' 

A  smile,  not  a  pleasant  one,  crossed  the  lips  of  M.  de  Pelven. 

'  I  should  be  moie  assured  of  that  if  I  could  hear  it  from 
himself.' 

'  I  wish  you  could  !  I  Tv^sh  you  could  ! '  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  had  foi'gotten  all  danger  to  Alain  in  the  regret 
that  he  was  not  there  to  clear  himself.  '  But  he  is  not  here 
- — I  never  thought  to  regret  that  he  was  out  of  France.  I 
do  not  know  where  he  may  be,  but  not  here.' 

M.  de  Pelven  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders ;  he  did  not 
believe  a  word. 

'  You  doubt  me,  my  cousin,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  recovering  something  of  her  usual  calm  manner,  as 
she  saw  the  gestui-e.  '  You  have  a  right  to  doubt  lis  all,  but 
can  you  su])])0S8  that  I  shoidd  hesitate  where  my  ne])hew's 
lionour  is  concerned'?  If  I  knew  Vvdiere  he  was,  as  things 
stand,  I  should  tell  you  at  once.' 

*  I  never  presumed  to  suppose  you  a  party  to  this  plot, 
mademoiselle,  though  your  nephew  has  tvirned  suspicion  on 
you  by  coming  here.' 

*  Why  do  you  suppose  he  came  here  1 '  with  an  impulse  to 
own  as  little  as  possible,  for  under  the  indignant  conviction 
that  the  charge  was  true,  at  least  as  far  as  it  concerned  her 
brother,  she  felt  great  doubt  and  distrust  of  his  accuser. 

*  Dear  lady,  what  is  the  use  of  denying  what  I  have 
positive  pixtof  of  ? ' 


FRIEND  OR  FOE?  53 

He  took  out  a  pocket-book  and  carefully  and  deliberately 
extracted  a  scrap  of  paper  in  her  own  liandwiiting,  which,  he 
held  to  her. 

'  Yes,  it  is  my  writing ;  I  wi-ote  lately  to  my  nephew.' 

'And  he  replied  by  coming  here.  He  arrived  the  day 
before  yesterday.' 

'  On  my  honour  he  did  not,'  she  answered,  perceiving  at 
once  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  journey  to  St.  Aignan. 

*  I  must  believe  you,'  he  replied  courteously. 

'Only  you  do  not,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
with  impatience ;  *  well  then,  since  it  can  do  no  harm,  as  far 
as  I  can  see — my  nephew  came  here ;  came  last  night,  stayed 
barely  an  hour,  and  left  me  at  dawn,  to  join  his  father,  who, 
yoxi  say,  had  already  crossed  the  frontier.  I  know  no  more. 
"What  you  tell  me  of  the  Comte  utterly  i:)erplexes  me.' 

*  Last  night,  and  left  you  at  dawn,'  said  De  Pelven, 
meeting  the  clear  blue  eyes  raised  full  to  his  with  a  thoughtful 
gaze,  while  he  said  to  himself,  '  It  has  the  ring  of  truth,  yet 
I  fully  believed  him  here  in  the  house- — the  girl's  face  said 
so — ah  !  the  girl,'  and  the  perception  that  he  could  learn 
what  he  would  from  Edmee  seemed  to  clear  the  path  for 
him.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  been  a  singularly  successful 
man,  as  he  counted  success,  a  politician  and  a  plotter  for  the 
pure  pleasvire  of  using  men  and  circumstances  as  he  chose, 
with  lemarkable  penetration  and  foi'csight,  which  seemed  to 
command  the  future  and  enable  him  to  steer  in  the  most 
troubled  seas,  and  a  fieedom  from  convictions  oi'  conscience 
which  gave  him  an  enoimous  advantage  over  those  wedded 
to  a  piinciple  or  a  paity.  It  was  his  study  that  as  few  as 
possible  should  know  how  many  threads  he  held  in  his  hands, 
or  how  great  a  power  he  possossed.  He  made  no  affectation 
of  ultra-Republicanism,  yet  he  was  in  the  confidence  of  all 
the  Jacobin  leaders,  and  did  not  fear  to  extend  protection  to 
Royalists  and  Moderates  whom  it  suited  him  to  hel]).  He 
had  sjioken  the  exact  truth  as  to  his  feelings  towards  the  St. 
Aignans;  their  death  could  bring  no  advantage  to  him  except 
that  he  would  have  a  claim  on  their  estates,  >\hich  he  did 
not  desire,  and  his  pride  forbade  him  to  let  them  ])prisli  and 
then  profit  by  theii-  death.     Rut  now  to  find  himself  eudail- 


54  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

gored  by  the  aid  which  he  had  given,  cheated,  laughed  at, 
awoke  such  feelings  as  only  a  man  of  De  Pelven'a  nature 
could  expoi'ience.  The  hostility  of  such  a  man  could  only  be 
deadly.  The  knowledge  of  the  plot  in  which  the  Comte  de 
St.  Aignan,  if  not  his  son,  was  implicated,  was  confined  to 
one  or  two  besides  himself,  and  none  but  he  knew  of  the 
existence  of  that  hcrap  of  paper  left  on  the  floor  of  Alam's 
room,  a  fragment  of  a  letter  supposed  to  be  destroyed,  in 
which  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aiarian  had  given  him  directions 
how  to  come  to  her — a  harmless  letter  enough,  even  if  the 
whole  had  been  seized,  but  at  tliis  juncture  more  than  enough 
to  cost  her  life.  De  Pelven  had  visited  Alain's  rooms  on  tne 
first  intelligence  cf  the  conspiracy ;  found  him  gone,  and, 
narrowly  scrutinising  all  that  could  gi^^e  a  clue  to  his  move- 
ments, discovered  the  fragment  of  paper.  He  at  once 
assumed  that  the  joumey  to  St.  Aignan  had  been  mentioned 
mei'ely  as  a  blind,  and  that  Mortemart  was  his  leal  destina- 
tion, probably  to  concert  with  his  aunt  means  of  ti-ansmitting 
answeis  to  the  papers  which  he  carried  oiit  of  France  with 
him.  The  unhappy  Mai-ie  Antoinette  was  still  alive,  a  close 
prisoner,  dejirived  of  her  son,  and  an  unceasing  object  of 
suspicion  and  hatred  to  the  ultra-Republicans.  Desperate 
attempts  to  rescue  hei-  within  the  kingdom,  and  appeals  to 
foreign  powers  without,  were  ceaseless,  and  it  was  in  one  of 
these  that  De  Pelven  believed  the  St.  Aignans  to  be  con- 
cerned. It  was  the  policy  of  the  Jacobins  to  use  the  dis- 
coveiy  of  such  a  plot,  real  or  pretended,  to  incense  the  mob 
yet  more  against  the  Queen,  but  silence  had  been  kept  on 
this,  with  the  hope  of  learning  more.  His  prompt  enquiries 
on  the  frontier  had  assured  him  that  M.  de  St.  Aignan  bad 
passed  it,  alone  ;  A  lain  therefore,  he  argued,  must  still  be  in 
France,  almost  certainly  at  INIoi-temart,  and  he,  at  least, 
might  be  mad  i  to  pay  fo:-  his  partial  success  in  hoodwinking 
De  Pelven,  who.  as  he  thought  it  over,  could  not  but  smile 
with  a  cold  wondej'  and  disdain  as  he  thought  of  the  Comte 
or  his  son  venturing  to  pit  themselves  against  Jdm.  But  the 
smile  was  a  dangei'ov.s  one.  He  had  not  often  been  deceived 
before,  and  he  thought  it  would  hai-dly  happen  to  him  again, 
forgetting  that  the  aciitest  man  is  not  secure  against  being 


FRIEND  OR  FOE?  55 

self-deceived.  And  his  preconceived  view  misled  him  when, 
practised  as  he  was  in  distinguishing  ti'uth  from  falsehood, 
he  could  not  make  np  his  mind  to  trust  what  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  said,  and  i-everted  to  his  fii'st  belief  that  Alain 
was  in  Moi-tomai-t.  To  remain  there  himself  was  absolutely 
necessary,  for  even  if  Alain  were  gone,  he  would  doubtless 
try  to  commiuiicate  with  his  aunt,  unaware  that  the  con 
spii-acy  was  discovered,  and  thus  its  extent  and  his  whei-e- 
abouts  might  be  learned ;  or  else  she  would  try  to  let  him 
know  what  she  had  just  learned.  De  Pel  van  had  rapidly 
reviewed  the  state  of  things  before  he  replied  to  ^Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan's  last  words.  '  So  best,  dear  lady ;  there  is  no 
more  to  be  said.  I  must  leave  you  now  to  see  the  local 
authorities  on  a  matter  of  business  which  may  detain  me 
some  days  here — there  is  a  small  jiropei-ty  on  sale  in  this 
neighbourhood. ' 

'  Lousnieres  V 

'  Exactly,'  he  answered,  liaving  spoken  with  a  tolerable 
certainty  that  there  must  be  either  Church  lands,  or  some 
hien  d'emiyre,  in  the  market.  *  I  shall  hope  to  be  allowed 
to  see  you  again.' 

'  You  will  allow  me  to  offer  you  hospitality,  unless  there 
is  danger  for  even  you  in  accepting  it  from  an  aristocrat  1 ' 
said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  with  reluctance  born  of  her 
instinctive  disti'ust,  mingled  oddly  with  the  consciousness  of 
having  no  servant  whatever.  He  could  hardly  fail  to  misin- 
terpret her  hesitation. 

'  You  ai'e  too  good  !  If,  indeed,  it  did  not  inconvenience 
you — perhaps,  too,  my  presence  might  be  some  protection. 
You  have  not  been  annoyed  in  any  way  ? ' 

'  Not  actually,  though  I  have  had  more  than  one  domi- 
ciliary visit,  and  strong  admonitions  to  i-emember  that  I  was 
a  suspicious  character.  All  that  is  a  thing  of  course,  but 
truly  your  society  would  be  a  boon,  for  I  feel  my  isolation 
much  ;  one's  oldest  acquaintance  look  shyly  on  one,  or  have 
iled.  No  one  ventures  near  friend  or  relation  now ;  every- 
one's chief  dp!^'.ire^is  to  be  forgotten.' 

*  I  gratefully  accept,  then.  There  is  nothing  that  I  can 
do  for  your  seciu-ity  or  comfort  ] ' 

'  But  indeed  there  is  ! '  exclaimed  ^Mademoiselle  dc  St. 


56  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Aignan,  stnick  by  a  sudtlen  idea.  *  I  have  here  a  young 
girl  who  has  come  to  me  withoTit  papers,  being  homeless  since 
her  mother's  late  death,  and  knowing  nothing  of  such  mat- 
ters as  permits.  My  old  Nanon  took  fright  at  once  at  such 
a  dangerous  guest,  and  left  me,  and  we  have  been  debating 
ever  since  how  to  procure  pcimission  for  the  child  to  lemain.' 

*  The  girl  who  opened  the  door  to  me  1     I  will  settle  that.* 
'  Thanks,  my  cousin,'  said   Mademoiselle  de   St.   Aignan, 

with  sincere  gratitude.  '  The  poor  child  put  me  in  a  serious 
difficulty,  but  what  could  I  do  1  Pray  assure  Monsieur  le 
Maire  that  there  is  no  danger  of  her  conspiring  against  the 
nation,  which,  by-the-by,  seems  as  suscejjtible  as  a  grande 
dame's  nerves  to  the  most  distant  idea  of  danger  ! ' 

'  It  is  difficult  to  say  where  conspiracy  does  not  lurk 
now,  my  cousin,  but  I  will  answer  for  this  child  on  the 
strength  of  your  word ;  you  shall  not  accuse  me  twice  in  one 
day  of  not  believing  it.     Where  does  she  come  from  1 ' 

'  St.  Aignan.  She  is  called  Edmee  Leroux,  a  gii-1  of 
sixteen,  I  think.' 

'  And  she  is  here — since  when  ] ' 

*  Only  since  this  morning.' 

*  Ah  ! '     The  date  seemed  important  to  De  Pelven. 

'  Yes,  my  poor  old  Nanon  let  her  in,  but  as  soon  as  sho 
heard  the  story,  she  let  herself  out  much  more  rapidly.' 

'  I  can  imderstand  that.  Let  me  tell  you  there  was  real 
peril,  dear  coixsin,  but  now  Nanon  need  not  fear  to  retui-n.* 

'  No,  no,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  with  a  comic 
expression  of  deprecation.  '  I  do  not  need  her,  and  I  need 
not  tell  you  that,  for  many  i-easons,  one  is  glad  to  have  as 
few  servants  as  possible.  It  is  so  tempting  to  prove  oneself 
a  good  patriot  by  denouncing  a  master  who  is  too  economical, 
or  a  little  hasty,  or  who  forgets  that  servants  aie  masters 
now-a-days,  and  must  be  treated  as  such.  Or  else  some 
speech  only  half  heard,  and  not  at  all  understood,  is  repeated. 

No,  ISTanon  shall  stay  in  her  own  home,  or  rather 

that  given  by  her  gi-andson,  a  bai-ber  in  the  town.' 

'  Then  if  I  need  a  barber  I  will  propitiate  Nanon's  gi^and- 
son  by  calling  in  his  services.     The  perrucpieis  and  paiiitera 


FRIE2<D  OB  FOE?  57 

of  coats-of-arms,  and  so  forth,  are  some  of  the  bitterest  of  tte 
democrats.' 

'  Yes,  having  driven  away  their  employers,  they  are  furi- 
ous against  the  emigres,  who  have  depi-ived  them  of  bread  ! 
But  this  Achille  Moustier  is  a  worthv  fellow  enough,  I 
believe.' 

'  Adieu,  then,  for  the  moment,  dear  lady ;  when  I  return, 
if  indeed  I  may  quarter  myself  on  you,  I  shall  hope  to  have 
arranged  this  little  matter  of  Mademoiselle  Edmee.' 

Such  a  promise  would  have  almost  secured  him  a  wel- 
come, even  had  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  been  more 
strongly  pi-ejudiced  against  him  than  she  was,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  having  a  man  of  her  own  rank,  accustomed  to  the 
great  world,  to  talk  with,  was  extremely  welcome.  She 
called  Edmee  to  tell  her  of  their  unexpected  guest,  and  the  girl 
said  eagerly,  '  You  have  had  good  news,  mademoiselle.  I  read 
it  in  your  face.' 

'  Ko,  far  from  that,'  answered  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aigiian, 
half  ashamed  of  her  good  spirits  when  thus  made  aware  of 
them.  '  Bad  enough,  my  child,  but  I  cannot  mend  them  by 
weeping  over  them.'  She  looked  troubled  enough  for  a 
moment,  as  she  thought  of  her  brothei^'s  name  mixed  up  in 
double-dealing,  and  her  nephew  no  one  knew  whei-e,  but 
rallied  quickly.  '  But  this  De  Pelvcn — whatever  his  views, 
one  sees  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  it  is  undoubtedly  agreeable  to 
be  treated  again  as  a  lady,  and  meet  someone  who  knows  how 
to  converse.  We  will  have  a  game  of  piqiiet  this  evening. 
Whatever  may  happen  to-morrow,  it  will  be  all  the  easier  to 
bear  that  I  have  enjoyed  to-day.  AVhat  did  you  thuik  of  him, 
petite  ? ' 

'  He  seemed  old — much  older  than  Monsieur  le  Chevalier.' 

'  So  he  is — twenty  yeai'S  older,  I  imagine.  No,  a  face  like 
that — carved  out  of  yellow  ivory — would  not  take  your 
fancy,  child  ;  but  I  have  heard  that  few  women  can  resist  De 
Pelven.     Hov/ever,  that  is  not  talk  for  a  child  like  you.'    ,, 

'  I  am  glad  he  will  come  again,'  said  Edmee.  '~"^ 

She  had  cause  of  gratitude  to  M.  de  Pelven,  as  it  seemed, 
for  after  a  conference  with  the  mairo  iind  the  notary  of 
Mortemartj  a  formal  ijei-mission  was  made  out  and  given  to 


58  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

him  for  her  residence  in  the  town.  He  had  letters  and 
papers  with  liim  which  made  him  an  all-important  p'^rson  in 
their  eyes,  and  he  told  them  just  enou^^h  to  let  them  feel  tluit 
unless  he  were  aided  to  their  utmost,  and  left  to  act  with 
entire  freedom,  Mortemart  would  be  in  danger  of  i-anking  as 
a  very  unpatriotic  place,  a  danger  not  to  be  lightly  encoun- 
tered. He  even  found  his  way  to  the  shop  of  Achille  Mous- 
tier,  for,  as  he  afterwards  observed  to  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  thwrc  was  no  one  so  small  but  he  might  sting  some 
day,  and  projutiated  both  him  and  old  Nanon,  who  found  it 
not  only  quite  possible  to  hear  the  Parisian  customer's  voice, 
but  readily  gave  a  full  and  elorpient  account  of  her  conster- 
nation at  Edmee's  arrival  that  morning.  De  Pelven  gathered 
no  more  from  i?t  than  he  had  already  heard,  but  he  felt  per- 
suaded that  in  some  way  or  other  this  girl  must  be  connected 
with  the  movements,  of  tlie  man  who  had  for  the  moment 
escaped  him.  It  crossed  his  mind  to  go  to  St.  Aignan  and 
make  enquiries  there,  but  he  rejected  the  idea  ;  it  was  not 
the  past,  but  the  future,  which  concerned  him ;  and  by  leav- 
ing Mortemart,  he  left  the  two,  through  whom  he  hoped  to 
gain  a  clue,  unwatched. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

FROM    SCYLLA   TO   CHARYBDIS. 


If  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  enjoyed  resuming  some  of  her 
old  sociable  habits,  Edmee  had  at  least  equal  delight  in  listen- 
ing to  the  conversation  of  M.  de  Pelven,  a  master  of  the 
agreeable  talk  which  then  was  a  necessary  accomplishment  to 
a  man  of  the  world.  Before  the  end  of  the  first  evening  she 
would  have  been  astonished  had  anyone  reminded  her  of  her 
first  impi-ession  of  him ;  she  no  longer  thought  of  him  as  a 
sallow,  middle-aged  man,  but  only  felt  that  no  one  so  fasci- 
nating  had   ever  crossed  her  dieams.     AVithout  absolutely 


FROM  80YLLA  TO  CIIARYBD18.  59 

addressing  himself  to  her,  he  never  foiled  by  a  pleasant  -word 
or  look  to  include  her  in  the  conversation,  and  she  listened 
entranced  to  revelations  of  a  new,  yet  half-diviued  world,  as 
he  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  talked  together,  avoiding 
with  exquisite  tact  all  subjects  that  could  jar  too  rudely, 
though  often  splintering  lances  briskly,  for  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan  had  a  natural  pugnacity  which  led  hPor  to  enjoy 
a  keen  encounter  of  wits.  On  the  darker  and  stormier  sub- 
jects of  the  day  they  did  not  touch.  '  I  will  ask  for  no  one,' 
she  had  said,  '  I  dai'e  not.  I  never  look  at  a  newspaper  now 
for  fear  of  what  I  may  learn  from  it.  But  talk  to  me  of  all 
our  friends  of  whom  you  have  anything  pleasant  to  say.' 

Edmee  felt  as  if  she  were  now  really  entering  that  well- 
bred  Avorld,  of  wlaich  her  visits  to  the  chateau,  as  the  favourite 
and  godcliild  of  its  mistress,  had  enabled  her  to  see  just  enough 
to  make  her  aixlently  desire  to  know  more.  She  had  an 
instinctive  and  keen  love  of  all  that  was  beautiful,  or  refined, 
which  was  in  itself  a  danger  for  a  girl  of  her  class,  and  it  only 
existed  for  her  in  this  aristocratic  world  which  was  already 
almost  swept  away  by  such  a  tempest  as  the  world  had  never 
seen  since  the  mighty  Eoman  empire  fell  under  the  onslaught 
of  the  bai-barians.  She  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  when  M.  de 
Pelven  casually  remarked  that  there  were  arrangements  to 
be  made  before  he  coujd  purchase  Lousnieres  which  would 
detaiii  him  much  longer  than  he  expected,  and  she  glanced 
anxiously  towards  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  anticipating 
her  ready  answer  that  the  longer  he  stayed  the  better  she 
should  be  pleased. 

'  I  disapprove  of  you,'  his  hostess  added,  Avith  laughing 
candour,  '  and  I  daresay,  if  I  knew  all,  I  should  disapprove 
a  great  deal  moi-e,  but  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  for  all  that.' 

So  M.  de  Pelven  stayed  on,  and  though  he  was  never  with 
the  two  ladies  except  of  an  evening,  having  affairs  of  liis  own 
which  employed  him  sometimes  in  the  town,  sometimes  in  the 
two  I'ooms  which  had  been  allotted  to  him,  or  rather,  which 
he  had  chosen  when  the  whole  second-floor  was  put  at  his 
dis])osal,  he  made  a  very  agreeable  variety  in  their  daily  lives, 
and  speedily  gained  a  very  good  idea  of  the  habits  of  his 
hostess  and  her  companion,  and  it  might  have  been  stifely 


60  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

assei-ted  that  they  never  went  out  or  in  without  his  being 
aware  of  the  fact.  HoweA^er,  they  seldom  did  leave  the  house, 
unless  when  Edmee  unwillingly  went  to  buy  such  siipplies  as 
were  absolute^  necessary  for  housekeeping,  or  wandered  in  the 
neglected  garden.  She  never  ventured  into  the  streets  if  she 
could  help  it,  shrinking  from  the  curious  eyes  turned  upon 
her  as  a  stx'anger,  and  feeling  that  she  had  an  enemy  in  o'd 
Nanon,  who  unreasonably  enough  considered  that  it  was 
thanks  to  her  she  had  lost  a  comfortable  place.  However,  to 
keep  perceptibly  out  of  sight,  or  to  spend  too  little  money, 
would  have  laid  both  herself  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
open  to  the  charge  of  want  of  patriotism  ;  Edmee  dared  not 
risk  that,  but  she  always  had  to  nerve  herself  by  a  strong 
effort  before  she  could  force  herself  to  go  out  to  the  market. 

She  thought  that  there  must  have  been  a  ])rcsentiment  of 
danger  in  this  natural  reluctance  when,  a  few  days  after  the 
arrival  of  ]\1.  de  Pelven,  she  saw  the  diligence  coming  through 
the  i)lace,  and  liarely  had  time  to  shrink  behind  a  great  tree 
under  which  a  group  of  expectant  idlers  sat  before  the  driver 
had  pulled  up  his  horses,  calling  for  a  relay,  and  I'dm^e  from 
her  shelter  saw  one  of  the  passengers  starting  up  in  his  place 
to  address  the  little  crowd  which  had  gathered,  eager  for 
news.  Too  well  she  knew  voice  and  face,  and  the  very 
phrases  which  the  orator  uttered,  nay,  even  his  ragged  coat 
and  red  cap  d,  la  Eolande  were  horribly  familiar.  It  was 
Lotumier,  the  man  for  whose  wife  she  had  been  destined^  by 
her  father.  '  Hear  me,  friends  and  brothers,'  he  was  saying, 
'  let  us  burn  all  the  libraries  and  all  anticpulies,  and  have  no 
guide  but  ourselves;  let  us  cut  off  the  heads  of  all  the 
deputies  who  have  not  voted  according  to  our  principles, 
banish  or  imprison  all  the  gentry,  and  guillotine  the  Baker's 
wife  as  we  have  done  the  Baker  ! ' 

Edmee  was  too  dizzy  to  know  how  his  speech  was 
received;  what  had  brought  him  here  1  was  he  seeking  herl 
In  such  alai-m  that  her  limbs  would  hardly  move,  she  hurried 
into  the  nearest  shop,  without  noticing  which,  until  a  shrill 
old  voice  startlea  her  senses  back  again,  and  she  found  hei'- 
self  in  the  'boutique'  of  Achille  Monstier,  with  Nanon 
gesticulating  at  her  from  a  corner  behind  the  counter,  and 


FROM  8CYLLA  TO  CUARYBDIS.  Gl 

demanding  to  know  what  had  brought  them  the  honour  of  so 
distinguished  a  customer. 

'  Hush,  hush,  grandmother,  all  customers  are  welcome, 
especially  such  as  the  citoyenne,'  interposed  Achille,  who  had 
been  standing  on  his  threshold,  looking  out  at  the  diligence, 
when  Edmee  stumbled  blindly  past  him.  '  What  can  I  offer 
— but  thou  ai't  ill,  citoyenne,  sit  down  then,  sit  down  I  pray 
thee ;  the  sun  was  too  hot,  no  doubt ;  I  saw  thee  sta^ser  in 
crossmg  the  street. 

'  Bah  !  bah  !  as  if  huzzies  of  her  age  suffered  from  the 
sun  ! '  muttered  old  xsanon,  '  did  I  ever  feel  it  when  I  was  a 
girl  %  and  we  had  sun  then ;  I  tell  thee  nobody  knows  now 
what  heat  is — art  thou  such  a  ninny  as  not  to  understand 
that  all  she  desired  was  an  excuse  for  coming  in  here,  when 
there  was  a  young  man  behind  the  counter  !  I  know  the 
ways  of  these  jades  ! '  • 

'  Yes,  yes,  little  grandmother,  you  were  young  once,  you 
see  !  Do  not  mind  the  old  woman,  citoyenne,'  added  Achille, 
■wdth  a  good-humoured  look  at  old  Nanon,  and  evidently 
flattered  by  her  explanation  of  tlie  conduct  of  poor  Edmee, 
who  was  still  too  much  teri-iiied  to  be  embarrassed. 

*  If  I  might  stay  a  few  moments,'  she  murmured. 

'  But  yes !  as  many  as  you  will.  I  am  too  much  ho- 
noured !  Ah,  my  shop  used  to  be  more  frequented  once,  but 
there  !  things  are  changed,  and  no  doubt  for  the  better.  Tho 
citoyenne  is  looking  at  that  hair  1  a  beautiful  colour,  is  it  not '{ 
Hair  is  cheap  now,  and  I  have  laid  in  a  good  stock ;  Ijut 
times  change.  I  used  to  buy  all  that  the  nuns  had  to  sell  at 
the  convent  yonder ;  but  now  there  is  such  a  supply  from  the 
prisons  that  it  is  quite  a  drug  in  the  market.' 

*  Then  that  hair,'  began  Edmee,  looking  at  it  with  a  sort 
of  fascination — ■ 

Achille  politely  finished  her  sentence  for  her.  '  Yes,  cito- 
yenne, that,  and  that  which  you  see  yonder — in  fact  all  in  the 
window,  belonged  to  aristocrats ;  it  is  of  the  best  quality ; 
there  is  something  so  fine  about  it  that  an  experienced  hand 
would  recogTiise  it  at  once — feel  it,  citoyenne.' 

'  How  can  you  ask  me  ! '  exclaimed  Edmee,  drawing  back 
with  a  shudder,  which  made  the  hair-dresser  stand  staring  at 
her  with  wonder,  while  Nanon  exclaimed  venomously : 


63  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  Ah,  ah,  my  son,  dost  thou  not  see  that  onr  little  aristo- 
crat is  grieved  that  so  many  of  her  friends  have  been  shaved 
with  the  national  razor  ?  Perhaps  she  thinks  that  some  day 
her  own  haii-  may  appear  in  the  shop  window,  eh,  eh  ' ' 

'  I  should  never  have  had  any  more  beautiful,'  said  the 
polite  Achille,  looldng  critically  at  the  abundant  and  glossy 
ti'esses  wound  i-ound  Edmee's  head,  and  quite  unaware  how 
ghastly  his  comj^liment  sounded.  '  Let  me  show  you  how 
like  yours  is  to  that  of  the  Baronne  de  Vieuville's  ;  I  can  lay 
my  hand  on  it  in  a  minute.  I  always  ticket  the  hair,  if  pos- 
sible, for  I  have  customers  who  will  gladly  pay  moie  for  such 
{IS  belonged  to  a  gi^cat  lady.  .  .  .  Ah,  the  diligence  goes  on ; 
they  seem  to  have  n.  famous  orator  on  it  to-day.  Did  the 
ci  to  venue  hear  Lis  speech?' 

'  Yes,'  said  Edmee,  with  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  as  she 
f;aw  the  })repaiations  for  departuie.  and  the  loud  clack  of  the 
whip  was  music  in  her  ears.  No  doubt  Letumierwas  on  his 
way  to  Lyons  or  Paris,  and  had  no  thought  of  such  an  in- 
significant thing  as  herself.  '  Thank  you  for  allowing  me  to 
rest,  citizen  Acliille ;  adieu,  m^re  Nanon,'  with  a  timid 
coui'tesy  to  the  old  woman,  whose  little  eyes  followed  her 
maliciously,  while  site  called  after  her  : 

'  AVe  will  not  fail  to  keep  a  good  place  for  your  hair,  ma 
petite  ! ' 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Edmee  looked  so  white  as  she 
came  into  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignau's  house  that  M.  do 
Pelven,  coming  down  the  bioad  oak  staircase,  stopped  and 
asked  with  solicitude  what  was  amiss. 

'  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,  monsieur  !  Oh,  how  I  wi.sh  I  need 
never  go  beyoncl  the  couityard.' 

'  You  have  been  fiightened  1  Poor  little  one,  sit  down 
here  and  tell  me.' 

'  Indeed  it  is  nothing,  only  old  Nanon  and  her  giandson 
talked  so  horiibly,  and — and — I  saw  someone  of  whom  I 
was  afraid,'  she  falteied,  with  a  feeling  that  if  De  Pelven 
knew  her  feais  he  could  i)rotect  her. 

'  An  old  acquauitance  1 ' 

'  Yes,  monsieur,  a  man  who  leads  all  the  Jacobins  in  our 
part ;  you  may  know  his  name.' 


FROM  SOYLLA  TO  CHABTBDIS.  63 

'  'rhere  are  so  many  of  tliat  !?pecies  now,  my  child  ! ' 

'  Yes,  no  doubt ;  then  perhaps  he  is  not  so  terrible  as  1 

thought ;  but  he  seemed  so  to  us  all,  and  I  saw  him  on  the 

di]i2;ence.' 

'  He  must  be  indeed  tci-iible  if  the  mere  sight  of  him  on 

the  diligence  could  overset  you  thus.     Are  all  Eepublicans 

ecpially  dreadful  in  your  eyes  ] ' 

'  Oh,  monsieur,  it  was  not  only  that,  he  .  .  .  I .  .  .' 

'  Ah,  he  had  a  special  interest  in  you  %    Perhaps  you  even 

fled  here  to  be  out  of  his  way  % ' 
Edmee  was  silent. 

•  I  begin  to  understand  now,'  said  M.  de  Pelven,  with  a 
smile,  '  and  you  thought  he  had  come  back  to  seek  you  1  It 
is  far  more  likely  that  he  goes  to  seek  another  mistress — 
fame — in  Paris.' 

'  Yes,  I  tliink  so  too  now.' 

'Your  father,  then,  favoured  him?' 

*  He  did,  monsieur ;  but  ask  me  nothing  of  those  days. 
I  would  gladly  die  if  so  I  could  be  sure  of  forgetting  them.' 

De  Pelven  looked  at  her,  stnick  by  the  tone,  though  she 
had  spoken  very  low. 

'You  aie  among  friends  now,'  he  said,  reassuringly. 

'  Friends,  oh  yes,'  she  answered  with  a  pretty  smile  and 
blush  of  gratitude. 

De  Pelven  know  that  he  v/as  included  in  the  numljcr. 
He  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it.  '  I  hear  my  cousin  coming,' 
he  said.  '  You  must  not  meet  her  with  such  white  looks  as 
you  had  a  few  moments  ago.  .  .  .  My  cousin,  tliis  poor 
child  has  been  fxightened  by  a  revenant  from  St.  Aignan.' 

'What  is  thisi  what  are  you  two  consulting  about]' 
demanded  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  while  De  Pelvouwas 
secretly  congratulating  himself  that  the  tap  of  her  high-heeled 
shoes  was  sure  always  to  give  full  notice  of  her  approach. 
Edmee  told  her  what  had  alarmed  her,  but  it  was  only  later, 
when,  straying  into  tlie  garden,  as  she  had  a  habit  of  doing, 
she  encounteied  De  Pelven  there,  that  she  spoke  of  the  con- 
versation in  the  hair-dresser's  shop.     He  smiled  and  frowned, 

'It  would  be  a  pity,'  he  murmuied  to  liiniself,  looking  at 
the  young  he.ad,  with  its  wealth  of   shining  hair,  and   the 


G4  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

thought  crossed  him  that,  though  he  should  use  her  as  a 
means  of  forwarding  his  plans,  he  should  not  willingly  let 
her  come  to  harm.  He  had  no  pleasure  in  cruelty,  though 
he  would  have  unhesitatingly  sacrificed  anyone  who  stood  in 
his  way ;  but  he  felt  that  he  would  rather  make  victims  of 
half-a-dozen  women  of  his  own  class  than  this  village  girl, 
whose  25urity  and  innocence  gave  him  the  interest  of  a  new 
study,  and  who  was  sometliing  of  an  enigma  to  him.  He 
liked  to  see  the  shv  eves  raised  smilinglv  to  his,  and  feel  that 
though  mistrustful  she  trusted  him.  He  felt  sure  that  she 
had  a  Mstory  in  the  background,  and  it  amused  and  occupied 
him  to  find  it  out.  It  was  with  a  certain  wondering  satisfac- 
tion that  he  found  himself  capable  of  such  feeling.  He  had 
gi-own  weary  of  most  things  in  the  forty  j'ears  of  his  life,  and 
it  was  an  agreeable  surprise  which  almost  made  him  grateful 
to  the  girl  that  he  found  himself  capable  of  being  thus 
moved.  It  did  not  soften  his  feelings  towards  Alain  to  be- 
lieve that  Edmee  was  in  his  confidence.  '  It  must  be  so,'  ho 
would  say  to  himself,  seeking  to  disentangle  the  web  ;  '  her 
looks  betray  her  whenever  he  is  named,  yet  if  ever  I  read  a 
woman's  looks  thero  is  no  love  in  them.  She  baffles  me.  If 
she  would  pretend  to  know  nothing,  I  could  deal  with  her ; 
but  "  Ask  me  notliing  ;  I  only  want  to  forget,"  that  defeats 
me.  Time  goes  by,  too.  Well,  De  Pelven  is  hardly  to  be 
baffled  by  a  giil ! ' 

It  seemed  a  hopeful  sign  that  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
eA"idently  gi-ew  uneasy  at  not  hearing  from  her  nephew.  The 
accusation  of  dishonourable  conduct  i-ankled  in  her  mind,  and 
she  wanted  as  much  to  obtain  an  opportunity  of  bidding  him 
deny  it,  as  to  know  liim  in  safety.  She  had  no  fears  for  her 
brother,  having  a  strong  though  only  half-acknowledged 
conviction  that  he  was  one  of  those  useless  people  in  the 
world  whose  lives,  being  of  no  importance,  last  interminably  ; 
but  she  thought  Alaui's  of  very  great  consequence,  and  there- 
fore much  less  safe,  a  view  ^^'hic•h  perhaps  the  general  course 
of  events  somewhat  justifies.  It  could  not,  however,  surprise 
her  that  she  heard  nothing.  Communication  even  with 
friends  in  France  was  very  hazardous,  as  no  letter  sent  by 
post  was  safe  from  inspection,  and  a  sharp  watch  was  kept 


FROM  SCYLLA  TO  CEARYBDIS.  65 

on  all  sent  by  private  hand.  She  had  had  letters  in  the 
lining  of  dresses,  in  a  pie,  in  a  pair  of  slippers,  so  well 
concealed  that  it  had  cost  her  much  time  and  pains  to  dis- 
cover them,  and  she  had  found  a  truly  feminine  pleasure  in 
ekiding  the  Argus  eyes  of  the  powers  that  were ;  but  she 
could  not  see  how  any  message  from  beyond  the  frontier  was 
to  be  conveyed.  To  have  received  even  the  most  iimocent- 
looking  packet  from  Switzerland  or  Belgium  would  have 
been  highly  dangerous.  She  was  too  much  preoccupied  with 
this  care  to  tliink  much  of  Edmee  or  De  Pelven,  and,  woman 
of  the  world  though  she  was,  the  idea  that  either  might  be 
attracted  by  the  other  never  crossed  her  mind,  and  she  had 
just  so  much  reluctance  to  admit  her  nephew  to  be  ii-revo- 
cably  bound  as  to  be  unwilling  to  tell  the  story  of  his 
marriage  to  De  Pelven,  especially  with  the  consciousness  that 
he  would  smile  to  scorn  the  notion  that  it  was  at  least  l)ind- 
ing  in  honour.  She  had  grown  very  fond  of  Edmee,  but  just 
now  De  Pelven  embodied  for  her  '  the  world's  dread  laugh,' 
and  she  told  herself  that  there  was  no  need  to  mention  tha 
matter,  and  did  not  see  that  one  of  the  most  attractive  men 
in  France  was  doing  his  best  to  win  a  gud  with  no  defeneo 
but  her  sense  of  honour  and  her  pure  heart,  and  a  girl, 
moreover,  Ijound  to  another  whom  she  did  not  love,  and 
knew  to  be  indiffeient  to  her.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
was  blind  to  it  all,  as  those  most  nearly  concei-ned  in  trage- 
dies are  blind,  until  the  last  moment — sometimes  even  after 
that  supreme  instant.  And  Edmee  was  blind  too,  and  there 
was  no  one  to  warn  her  to  draw  back  while  it  was  time. 
She  only  knew  that  somehow  happiness  had  come  into  her 
life,  and  that  it  was  no  longer  difficult  not  to  regi'et  that  she 
had  not  died  with  her  baby-brothers,  before  she  had  any 
bitter  memories.  The  spring  of  inward  gladness  gave  colour 
to  the  pale  cheeks  and  a  lustre  to  the  eyes,  which  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan  noticed  with  pleasure ;  more  than  once 
she  said  to  De  Pelven,  '  That  child  grows  charming ;  I  saw 
no  signs  of  it  when  she  first  came,  but  look  at  her  now — she 
has  the  Berrichonne  beauty,  but  she  will  always  be  much  too 
slight  for  a  time  Berrichonne — they  have  the  large  EngHsh 
frame,  you  know.     I  always  say  that  my  nephew  has  an 


66  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

English  loo]c  with  him,  though,  to  be  sure,  no  Englishman 
ever  harl  his  distinguished  air  ! ' 

Dp  Pelven  smiled  quietly.  He  read  the  secret  of  Edm^e's 
brightening  looks  as  neither  she  nor  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  co^ild. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    ABBE    GERUSEZ. 


*  I  CAXXOT  see  how  I  am  to  hear  from  my  nephew,*  began 
Mademoiselle  de  St,  Aignan  suddenly,  as  she  put  down  her 
cards  and  looked  at  ]\I.  de  Pelven,  who  was  her  adversary  at 
piquet ;  but  then,  recollecting  that  she  had  not  told  Edmee 
anything  of  the  imputation  which  weighed  on  her  mind,  she 
stoj>ped  abruptly,  and  betrayed  her  perturbation  by  putting 
down  a  wrong  card,  Avhich  threw  all  the  chances  of  the  game 
into  her  opi:)onent's  hands.  Being  an  ardent  piquet-player, 
this  untoward  accident  for  the  moment  banished  everything 
else  from  her  mind  ;  but  some  instinct  told  Edmee  that  her 
presence  was  a  restj-aint.  She  stepped  out  of  the  room,  and 
betook  herself  to  the  garden,  though  it  was  late,  and  there 
had  been  rain,  enough  in  the  morning  to  make  the  waits 
damp.  She  was  happy,  happy  enough  to  find  her  solitary 
wandeiing,  filled  vv^ith  vague  musings,  very  pleasant,  even 
when  twilight  made  the  neglected  walks,  shaded  by  thick 
hornbeam  hedges,  chill  and  gloomy,  and  the  comparative 
liberty  of  her  present  life  was  in  itself  a  spring  of  pleasure ; 
but  she  stood  still,  with  a  great  start,  as  she  saw  the  little 
door  leading  down  to  the  river  cautiously  moved,  and  a  man's 
head  a])pear  at  the  opening.  Her  presence  did  not  seem  to 
scare  liim  as  his  did  her,  for  he  came  through  the  door  and 
closed  it  behind  him.  He  wore  a  peasant's  dress,  and  seemed 
to  have  "w^aded  through  the  stream,  to  judge  by  his  dripping 
condition.     Edmee  stood  still  in  some  alarm,  but  was  re- 


THE  ABB^  QMuaEZ.  67 

assured  by  a  look  into  the  face,  very  careworn  and  haggard, 
but  that  of  a  kind  elderly  man,  by  no  means  formidable. 

'  My  child,  is  yom-  name  St.  Aignan  % '  he  asked,  in  a  low- 
voice. 

'  No,  monsieur ;  Mademoiselle  is  in  the  house ;  do  you 
want  her  ] ' 

'  I  have  a  message  to  yovi  both,  for  surely  I  cannot  be 
mistaken  ]  it  is  the  wife  of  the  Chevalier  de  St.  Aignan  to 
whom  I  speak  1 ' 

'  But,  monsieur ! '  Edmee  gazed  at  him  in  breathless 
consternation. 

'  Nay,  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  me,  my  daughter,'  he 
said,  with  a  kind  smile,  only  partially  comprehendiag  her 
dismay.  '  I  am  the  Abbe  Gei'usez,  the  priest  of  Les  Halliers ; ' 
then,  seeing  that  this  told  her  nothing,  he  smiled  again,  and 
shook  his  h<;iad  with  compunction.  '  Ah,  I  see  you  have 
never  hcai'd  of  me — how  should  you  1  It  is  a  timely  hu- 
miliation.    Where  ^vill  not  vanity  lurk  ! ' 

'  A  priest !  Oh,  Monsieur  I'Abbe,  is  it  safe  for  you  to  be 
hereT 

'  Safe,  my  poor  child  !  Where  can  it  be  safe  for  anyone, 
above  all  a  priest,  now  1  But  let  me  give  you  your  message ; 
the  Chevalier  has  escaped  into  Switzerland,  and  found  his 
father  already  there.  .You  must  not  ask  me  how  I  know 
this  ;  it  might  bring  others  into  danger.  All  that  concerns 
you  is  that  he  was  exceedingly  anxious  that  his  aunt  and 
wife  should  know  this,  even  if  he  camiot  communicate  again 
with  them.' 

'  "  His  wife  !  "  Surely  he  did  not  call  mo  that,'  Edmeo 
nmrmured,  tiu'ning  vei'y  pale. 

'  Undoubtedly,  my  child.     Are  you  not,  then,  his  wife  1  * 

*  Yes — no — you  would  not  tliink  so.  Oh,  father  !  may  ] 
confess  to  you  ]  But,  no,  it  might  be  too  dangerous  if  you 
lingered.  We  are  not  alone  in  the  house ;  a  relation  oi 
Mademoiselle's  is  here,  who  might  come  into  the  garden,  and 

though,  of  course,  he  would  not  betray  you ' 

'  Would  he  not,  my  poor  little  one  ]  You  answer  boldly 
for  this  Pelven,  a  dangerous  man,  as  I  hear ;  a  dangeirous, 
bad  man.' 


G8  IS'OBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  Oh  no,  fatlier,  you  are  misinformed  ! '  cried  Edm^e, 
blusliing  rosy-red  with  eagerness  and  displeasure ;  *  he  has 
protected  us,  though  he  is  a  Kepublican  ;  he  is  most  kind  and 
good.' 

'  Poor  child  ! '  was  the  priest's  answer,  '  more  dangerous 
to  you  than  me,  perhaps.  I  would  certainly  hear  your  con- 
fession, but  I  am  urgently  wanted  elsewhere  ;  there  is  a  dying 
woman  with  an  unbaptised  babe  to  whom  I  must  go  at  once, 
but  I  will  return  to-morrow,  at  this  hour,  if  I  Kve.' 

'  Oh.  risk  nothing  for  me,  Monsieur  I'Abbe  !  T  ought  not 
to  ask  it.' 

'  Why  not  for  you  as  well  as  for  others  1  I  have  not 
stayed  for  the  sake  of  one,  but  of  all  my  flock — or  rather,  I 
have  come  .back  for  them.  Alas  !  my  child,  you  must  not 
think  too  well  of  me  ;  at  the  first  I  fled  like  a  hii-eling,'  said 
the  priest,  colouring  deeply,  '  but  ray  conscience  woiild  not 
let  me  rest,  and  I  came  back  to  my  people  ;  they  need  a  shep- 
herd sorely.  The  very  danger  all  around  us  tempts  men  to 
forget  God.' 

'  '  Does  it,  father  ] ' 

'  You  wonder,  my  child,  but  so  it  is.  Those  who  loved 
Him  in  better  times  cling  faster  to  Him  now,  but  as  for  the 
rest.  .  .  .  One  cannot  always  live  at  full  stretch  ;  one  grows 
used  to  terror  and  danger,  and  one  thrusts  away  the  thought 
and  grows  reckless.  And  men's  hearts  fail  them  when  their 
jirayers  fall  to  the  ground  unanswered,  and  they  knock,  but 
the  dooi-  is  not  opened,'  said  the  priest,  with  an  irrepressible 
sigh,  adding  after  a  moment,  almost  inaadibly,  '  "  Lord,  I 
believe  ;  help  Thou  mine  unbelief."  Farewell,  my  daughter, 
till  to  morrow,  if  God  wills  it.  Thank  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignau  for  her  last  kind  help  to  my  people.' 

'  You  know  her,  then ! '  said  Edmee,  astonished.  He 
answered  only  by  a  smile,  but  moved  back  to  lay  his  hnnd 
on  her  head  and  bless  her.  She  knelt  down  in  great  agitation, 
and  did  not  rise  until  the  garden-gate  had  closed  behind  him ; 
then  sprang  up  and  lied  indoors  ;  she  would  have  passed 
M.  de  Pelven,  without  seeing  him,  but  for  his  detaining  hand, 
and  gentle,  '  I  was  sent  by  my  cousin  to  seek  you.  Ah  f 
you  are  the  beai-er  of  important  news  ] ' 


TRE  ABBS  Q^RUSEZ.  69 

'  Monsieur  !  how  do  you  know  that  1 ' 

*  Parbleu  !  it  is  not  cliificult  to  see.  Eeassiire  me  at  least 
as  to  the  Chevalier's  safety.' 

'  Yes ;  he  is  safe,  he  is  in  Switzerland.  Let  me  go  to 
Mademoiselle.' 

'  In  Switzerland  ! '  murmured  De  Pelven,  much  surprised. 
'  Out  of  reach,  then,  at  least  for  the  moment.  But  who 
brought  the  news  ? ' 

He  might  have  questioned  Edm^e,  but  it  was  more  con- 
genial to  his  nature  to  discover  it  in  a  less  dii-ect  way.  He 
went  down  into  the  garden,  looking  attentively  at  the  walks, 
damp  with  recent,  rain.  They  scarcely  betrayed  where 
Edmee's  girlish  step  had  passed,  but  near  the  little  door  foot- 
prints were  deeply  marked  on  them. 

'  A  man's  foot,  not  a  young  one's ;  he  had  a  stick  and 
leant  on  it — -a  countryman's  shoe,  but  that  tells  nothing,' 
De  Pelven  said  to  himself,  eyeing  the  ti-aces.  '  Ha  !  what 
happened  here  1  she  must  have  knelt  down.  It  was  a.  priest, 
viafoi!  thei'e  is  sure  to  be  a  woman  and  a  priest  in  all  plots. 
It  must  be  that  Abbe  from  Les  Halliers,  whom  they  caimot 
getholdof — So  heis  mixed  up  withit!  well,  he  will  come  again.' 

Meanwhile  Edmee  had  joined  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
and  told  her  that  Alain  was  in  safety.  She  wondered  to  see 
the  fii'st  flash  of  joy  on  his  aunt's  face  overshadowed  almost 
immediately.  'But  -who  brought  the  news,  child?'  she 
asked  impetuously.  '  How  could  you  let  him  go  1  It  is 
absolutely  necessary  that  I  send  the  Chevalier  a  message.' 

'  I  do  not  know,  mademoiselle ;  it  was  a  priest,  a  kind 
man — the  Abbe  Gerusez  I  think  he  called  himself 

'  Ah,  the  good  Abbe  !  There  is  a  man  who  might  make 
us  all  say,  "  Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian  " — 
nay,  quite,  for  it  must  be  a  gi-eat  faith  which  enaljles  a  timid 
man  such  as  he  to  choose  the  life  of  a  hunted  beast,  noAv  in 
the  woods,  now  in  some  hut,  always  in  the  utmost  danger.  I 
do  not  love  the  priests  overmiich,  as  you  know — yes,  yes, 
petite,  I  have  seen  you  wince  and  sigh  over  ray  dei);nvitv,  but 
it  is  the  truth — yet  when  I  see  a  man  like  the  cur6  of  Los 
Halliers,  I  think  ...  a  great  many  things,'  she  concluded  with 
a  laugh.     '  Be  sure  to  keep  him  if  you  see  liim  again.' 


70  jS-oblesse  oblige. 

EHm^e  could  never  tell  how  far  the  sceptical  tone  habitual 
to  her  hostess  was  assumed  or  real.      It  troubled  her  deeply, 
as  a  flaw  in  a  precious  stone,  and  set  a  certain  barrier  between 
them.     She  could  not  bring  herself  to  say  that  she  hoped  to 
see  and  confess  to  the  Abbe  the  next  evening,  but  went  away 
to  her  own  room,  and  tried  to  prepare  herself  for  this  confes- 
sion.  It  was  long  since  she  had  had  such  an  opportunity,  and 
she  felt  -with  keen  pain  how  unlike  her  tale  would  be  to  the 
simple,  girlish  avowals  of  two  years  before.     That  message 
from  Alain  kept  ringing  in  her  eai's :  '  his  wife ! '  he  had 
called  her  so  openly,  and  she  was  forced   to  pei-ceive   that 
there  was  some  sort  of  a  bond  between  them  which  could  only 
be  broken  by  mutual  consent.     And  if  so — where  had  she 
been  drifting  1     She  covered  her  face  in  a  transport  of  pain 
and  shame,  and  then  a  sharp  Jiang  of  resentment  against 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  shot  through  her  heart.  Why  had 
she  not  spoken  frankly  of  her  as  the  Chevalier's  wife,  since 
she  held  her  so ;  why  had  she  put  her  in  this  false  position 
with  regard  to — othei-s  1     Even  to  herself  she  did  not  at  first 
say  any  name.    *  Send  me  help — oh,  no  matter  how,  but  send 
me  help ! '  was  the  cry  of  her  heart  as  she  sat  in  the  deep 
window-seat  of  her  bedroom  through  long  hours  of  the  night 
• — hours  in  which  her  childhood  died — and  faced  her  position 
and  her  danger.     *  Anyhow — in   any  way — only  let  me  be 
helped  ! '  she  implored,  looldng  up  to  the  for  off,  silent  sky, 
\viih  voiceless  intensity  of  suj^plication.     '  Monsieur  I'Abbe 
came  at  the  right  time,'  she  said  to  hei-self  at  last,  worn  out 
into  calmness,  and  with  a  sense  that  she  had  not  prayed  in  vain. 
'  He  will  advise  me.     If  I  belong  to  the  St.  Aignans,  they 
shall  never  blush  for  me — ^but  oh,  mother,  mother  ! ' 

Her  promise  to  her  mother  was  costing  her  more  than 
she  could  have  drenmed  possible.  '  He  must  know,'  she 
added  presently,  but  it  was  only  with  the  innocent  belief  that 
it  v.'ould  be  safer  for  herself  were  De  Pelven  informed  of  her 
position ;  she  had  learned  what  he  was  to  her,  but  the  dis- 
covery was  as  yet  too  absorbing  for  any  thought  of  what  she 
might  be  to  him ;  he  seemed  too  far  off,  too  superior  a  being 
for  that  side  of  the  question  to  present  itself.  '  Yes — Monsieur 
I'Abbe  was  sent  to  me,'  and,  comforted  by  that  thought,  she 


THE  ABB^  G^RUSEZ.  71 

Ifiy  down  at  last  and  slept.  She  woke  with  a  new  world  of 
feelings  in  lier  heart,  and  it  did  not  need  the  keen  eye  of  De 
Pelven  to  see  immediately  what  a  change  had  come  over  her. 
*  She  expects  someone — the  Chevalier  %  No,  she  said  he  was 
in  Switzerland,  and  though  she  can  be  silent,  she  cannot  lie,' 
he  mattered,  noting  her  closely.  *  It  will  be  well  in  any  case 
to  get  hold  of  t!iis  go-between.'  Edmee  never  discovered  that 
he  was  watching  her,  yet  she  felt  the  strangest  sense  of  being 
under  surveillance.  It  had  hitherto  been  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  woild  that  she  should  go  out  and  in  as  the  fancy 
took  her,  but  as  the  hour  for  her  appointment  came  near  she 
felt  as  if  she  dared  not  move,  even  though  De  Pelven,  v/ho 
had  been  absent  all  the  morning,  had  only  returned  to  go 
straight  to  his  rooms,  where  he  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in 
writing.  Once,  v.'hen  she  had  summoned  courage  to  leave  the 
room.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  called  after  her,  and  she 
started  as  if  she  had  been  shot,  although  it  was  but  a  request 
to  fetch  a  cliauffejncd.  She  brought  it,  and  I\Iademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan  thanked  her  by  a  pat  on  the  cheek.  Its  coldness 
startled  her.  '  Wliy,  petite  I '  she  exclaimed,  '  it  is  you,  not  1, 
who  need  more  warmth.  What  have  you  been  doing?  Sitting 
still  all  day  over  that  lace-pillow  !  Fie,  fie,  you  shoiild  go 
into  the  garden,  and  get  your  eyes  rested.  One  would  say  you 
had  stayed  awake  alL  night,  only  happily  that  never  befalls 
children  of  your  age  ! '  added  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
who,  though  twice  Edmee's  age,  and  more,  never  guessed  that 
into  the  brief  life  of  the  girl  had  been  crowded  feai-s,  and 
bitterness,  and  exquisite  suffering  such  as  her  own  had  never 
even  been  tinged  with.  '  Leave  that  to  older  people,  petite  / 
Go  then — unless  it  is  too  late  "? ' 

'  Oh,  no,  no,'  answered  Edmee,  inexpressibly  thankful  for 
the  pi-etext  to  escape,  and  she  slipped  away  in  haste,  and 
hui-i-ied  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  her  heart  beating  fast  as 
she  watched  for  the  opening  of  the  little  door,  and  went  over 
what  she  had  to  say  to  the  Abbe.  She  waited  long,  with  her 
eyes  still  fixed  on  the  door,  and  her  ears  on  the  alert  for  every 
sound,  waited  until  a  sick  sense  of  disappointment  and  doubt 
began  to  creep  over  her  ;  a  fear  that  something  had  delayed 
the  priest.     *  But  he  must  come,'  she  exclaimed  half  aloud, 


7;i  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

looking  up  with  reproachful,  appealing  eyes  to  the  skies  from 
whose  depths  she  had  seemed  to  feel  an  answer  thrill  the 
night  before.  They  were  grey  now  ;  cloudy  and  low  ;  they  cUd 
not  seem  the  same  into  which  she  had  gazed  with  her  soul  in 
her  eyes  a  few  hours  earliei-.  The  unseen  woi-ld  had  seemed 
so  near  in  that  conflict  of  feeling ;  help  so  certain.  She 
shivered,  and  listened  to  the  town  clock  striking  slowly.  She 
dared  not  linger  any  longer.  '  He  will  not  come  ! '  she  thought 
again,  with  such  bitter  disappointment  as  did  not  only  come 
from  the  failvu^e  of  her  hope  of  confession ;  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  her  gi'atitude  for  that  certainty  of  help  which  had 
thrilled  into  her  soul  had  been  wasted,  as  if  she  had  been 
mocked  by  a  delusive  promise,  and  that  there  was  nothing  to 
trust  to.  All  was  blankness  to  her.  It  was  with  uttei-  de- 
pression that  she  went  weai'ily  away,  and  returned  to  the 
house,  scarcely  caring  to  remember  that  there  was  no  leason 
why  the  Abbe  Gerusez  should  not  come  another  day. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  sat  reading,  with  her  feet  on 
the  chauffepiad ;  she  looked  up,  and  gave  Edmee  a  friendly 
nod  as  she  oame  in,  and  then  went  on  with  her  book.  She 
read  a  great  deal,  especially  woiks  by  the  Encyclopedists. 
Just  now  she  had  in  hand  Malebranche's  '  Recherche  de  la 
"Verite.'  She  would  not  let  Edmee  read  them,  which  indeed 
the  girl  had  little  inclination  to  do  ;  but  gave  her  '  Paiadis 
Peidu '  instead,  which,  as  it  happened,  suited  her  little  better. 

Edmee  went  and  leant  listlessly  at  the  window,  which 
looked  across  the  coiu-t  to  the  street,  but  her  vague  gaze  sought 
nothing  there.  All  the  exhaustion  of  hei-  sleepless  night  and 
tumult  of  feeling  had  come  upon  her ;  she  looked  like  the 
spii'itless  stranger  whom  Alain  had  brought  in  the  chill  dawn 
into  the  little  salon  on  the  giound-floor  rather  than  the  Edmee 
who  had  of  late  moved  lightly  about  the  house  where  she  had 
found  a  home.  She  stood  at  the  window  because  she  was  too 
listless  to  move  away,  hardly  thinking  anything  distinctly, 
and  unobserved  by  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  was 
iutei'ested  by  her  book,  and  to  whom  Edmee's  goings  and 
comings  were  not  especially  important,  although  she  had 
grown  fonder  of  her  guest  than  she  yet  knew.  For  some 
xuinutes  Edmee  had  been  dimly  conscious  of  a  noise  without, 


THE  ABB^  GiJRUSEZ.  73 

which  seemed  to  gather  volume,  and  approach,  and  her  heart 
gave  a  gieat  leap  of  horror  as  all  at  once  she  became  aware 
that  these  sounds  were  the  yells  of  infuriated  voices,  the 
trampling  of  many  feet — sounds  ominous  of  ill,  perhaps  of 
death.  Her  exclamation  startled  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
who  rose  in  alarm,  and  hurried  to  her  side,  just  as  the  crowd 
went  by,  a  crowd  composed  of  a  few  men  and  many  women, 
shrieking,  brandishing  their  clenched  hands  in  the  air,  and 
heaping  coarse  insults  on  the  passive  figiu-e  whom  they  dragged 
along  in  theii-  midst,  whom  Edmee  had  x'ecognised  even  before 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  exclaimed  with  consternation  and 
deep  regret,  '  The  Abbe  Gerusez  !  Good  heavens  !  he  is  a  lost 
man  ! '  They  only  saw  him  for  a  moment,  as  the  throng 
rushed  past,  but  even  in  that  brief  time  Edmee  noticed  a 
woman,  a  wild  fury,  with  her  cap  fallen  back  and  her  black 
locks  all  loose,  snatch  up  a  handful  of  mud  from  the  street, 
and  lling  it  into  his  face.  He  coiild  not  wipe  it  away,  for  his 
hands  were  bound,  and  a  cruel  laugh  of  triumph  arose  from 
the  spectators.  Their  cries  and  shouts  weie  audible  long  after 
the  mob  had  gone  by.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  turned, 
pale  and  shuddering,  to  speak  to  Edmee,  but,  to  her  smprise, 
found  her  gone  unnoticed. 

She  had  darted  up  to  the  second  floor,  into  the  apartment 
never  before  visited  by  her  while  De  Pelven  was  there, 
though  she  took  shy  delight  in  arranging  it  in  his  al^sence. 

'  Monsieur  !  '  she  cried,  appearing  suddenly  before  him, 
while  he  looked  up  from  his  writing  in  smiling  ama/:cnient. 
'  Monsieur  !  they  have  arrested  the  priest  of  Les  Halliers. 
Ho  is  a  dead  man  unless  someone  interfere  at  once,  but  you 
can  save  him.' 

*  I,  my  poor  child  ?  You  greatly  overrate  my  power,' 
said  De  Pelven,  coldly.  '  Wliat  can  make  you  credit  mc  witli 
interest  enough  to  save  a  priest  in  these  days  ]  I  should 
simply  risk  my  own  head  in  vain.' 

'  No,  no,  that  is  not  so  ;  you  are  powerful,  and  oh,  lie  in 
such  a  good  man  !  he  has  given  his  life  for  his  jjcople,  and 
you  will  not  let  him  be  murdered  1  I  knoio  you  can  save 
him,'  Edmee  cried,  exasperated  by  his  deprecating  smile  and 
shrug.      '  Unless   you    had    ]iower,    how    cduld    you     liave 


74  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

* 

arranged  my  being  here  as  you  did  ?  how  would  you  dare  to 
live  under  the  roof  of  an  aristocrat  1 ' 

'  I  have  strained  such  poor  interest  as  I  have  on  behalf 
of  my  cousin,'  said  De  Pelven,  surprised  at  an  argument 
which  showed  more  shrewdness  than  he  expected  or  liked. 

*  I  can  do  no  more,  I  assure  you.     And  what  is  tliis  priest  to 
you,  my  pretty  Edmee,  that  you  plead  so  warmly  for  him  ! ' 

'  A  good  man,  monsieur ;  is  not  that  enough  1  Some 
would  thinlc  it  enough  to  be  worth  risking  Komething  for  ! ' 

*  And,  moreover,  your  means  of  communicating  with  the 
Che  scalier  ■?  '  said  De  Pelven,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her; 
but  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  instant  change  produced  by 
his  words.  All  the  personal  feelings  which  emotion  had 
swept  away  returned  on  her  like  a  flood  ;  she  turned  red  and 
pale,  and  stood  dumb  before  him,  and  sudden  passion  blazed 
up  in  his  eyes  as,  for  once  losing  self-command,  he  exclaimed, 
'  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  love  St.  Aignan  1 ' 

'  I  ...  I    have    scarcely    seen   him,'   she  faltered  out ; 

*  but  ...  I  am  his  wife.' 

*  His  wife  ! '  For  a  moment  De  Pelven's  countenance 
changed  as  much  as  hers  had  done.  Blase  man  of  the  world 
as  he  was,  those  two  words  shook  him  so  that  he  could  not 
trust  his  voice  to  reply.  It  was  with  a  soi-t  of  wonder  at 
himself  that  he  heard  its  hvisky  tone  as  he  said,  after  a  pause, 
'  This  is  news  which  may  well  surprise  me  a  little.  I  should 
have  thought,  under  the  circumstances,  that  the  Chevalier 
would  have  wished  for  two  persons'  names  on  his  passport.' 

'  No,  he  could  not  tell— and  besides  ...  let  me  tell  you 
how  it  was,  monsieur,'  said  Edmce,  gaining  courage,  and  re- 
solved to  make  all  clear.  '  I  tried  to  warn  him  of  danger  at 
St.  Aignan ;  it  was  found  out,  and  my  home  was  closed  to 
me.     Then  he  married  me.' 

*  With  the  help  of  this  priest,  no  doubt.' 

*  No  ; '  Edmee's  colour  flushed  crimson.  '  Before  the 
maire  ;  and  then  he  brought  me  here.' 

*  Before  the  maire  !  And  you  do  not  love  him  1  Is  it 
possible  that  you  hold  that  a  marriage  1 '  cried  De  Pelven, 
with  instant  perception  of  the  argument  Avhich  would  tell 
most  with  Edmee.  '  It  is  impossible,  nor  can  he,  my  poor 
child.' 


TEE  ABBi:  OMUSEZ.  75 

'  Alas  !  lie  does,'  slie  answered,  utterly  unconscious  how 
much,  this  short  sentence  betrayed  to  the  eager  ear  which 
caught  them. 

'  And  you  1 ' 

*  And  i  too.' 

*  But  this  is  folly  !  You  will  prohably  never  meet  again 
— do  not  believe  those  who  say  that  in  a  few  months  all  will 
settle  down  in  France.  Years  will  not  see  the  emigre^ 
return — and  are  you  to  sacrifice  all  your  young  life  to  an 
imaginary  bond  1  are  you  never  to  listen  to  anyone  who  tells 
you  he  loves  you  as  the  Chevalier  neither  does  nor  could  do  ? ' 
s.aid  De  Pelven,  drawing  nearer,  and  taking  her  hands,  wliile 
his  glowing,  mcltiiig  gaze  dwelt  on  the  drooping  face  which 
coloured  vividly  under  the  look  which  she  felt  though  she 
did  not  see,  and  his  voice  dwelt  on  her  ear  in  the  caressing 
and  seductive  tones  which  few  women  indeed  had  ever  heard 
unmoved.  '  Sweet  one  !  do  you  not  feel  how  cruel,  how  un- 
reasonably unjust  to  others  as  well  as  yourself  this  would  be  ] 
Look  up ;  have  you  not  guessed  a  little  that  there  is  some 
one  whom  you  would  drive  to  despair  by  such  a  thought  1 — 
that  it  is  for  your  sake  I  linger  here  1 ' 

'  That  does  not  make  me  free,'  she  answered,  sighing 
deeply,  and  trying  to  withdraw  her  hands. 

'  But  do  you  not  seG  that,  since  you  are  but  a  stranger  to 
the  Chevalier,  his  purpose  was  answered  when  he  found  you 
a  home,  and  that  he  cannot  even  wish  to  have  a  further  claim 
upon  you  1     In  freeing  yourself,  you  free  him.' 

'  I  do  not  know  that  he  wishes  it.' 

'  But  if  you  did,  my  Edmec,  if  you  did  1 ' 

*  It  would  be  diderent  then,  I  suppose,'  she  said,  while  for 
an  instant  she  lifted  her  shy,  brightening  eyes  to  the  face 
bent  over  her,  moved  for  once  with  strong  and  sincere 
emotion,  which  seemed  to  thrill  through  her;  '  but  we  cannot 
know.' 

*  Nay,  we  can  learn.  Tliis  abb6,  this  Gerusez,  he  doiil)t- 
less  has  means  of  communicating  Avitli  the  Chevalier — if  lie 
should  undertake  to  assure  you  that  Hi.  Aignan  desii-es  to  be 
free  from  this  hasty  bond,  will  you  be  content  'i ' 

Edm^e  .stood  thinking,  as  well  as  she  could   while  her 


76  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

heart  throbbed  so  fast.  '  If — without  a  word  as  if  I  asked 
for  release — the  Chevalier  declares  it  is  his  wish  to  break  this 
tie — I  wish  it  too.' 

'  And  that  is  all  you  will  say  !  Can  you  imagine  that  a 
man  of  honour  would  be  the  first  to  suggest  it]  Allons 
done  !  you  are  in  jest,'  cried  De  Pelven,  who  knew  that  his 
hopes  of  success  were  but  small  if  Alain  were  thus  dealt  with. 
'  It  is  an  insult  to  suppose  it ! ' 

'  But  Monsieur  I'Abbe  can  leana  what  he  would  wish — 
though,  indeed,  what  can  he  wish  but  to  escape  from  such  a 
bond  ] '  said  Edmee,  with  buraing  shame  and  confusion. 
'  Let  me  only  know  clearly  that  it  is  his  wish.  That  it  must 
surely  be  possible  to  ascertain.' 

De  Pelven  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  show  her  how 
futile  such  scruples  were,  but  a  glance  at  Edmee's  counte- 
nance made  him  change  his  mind.  He  postjioued  whatever 
he  had  been  about  to  say,  and  turned  it  into,  '  And  you  will 
leave  me  in  suspense  until  who  can  say  when  ? ' 

♦  I  must.' 

'  Will  you  not  even  let  me  guess  that  you  love  me  a 
little  1 '  he  asked,  bending  over  her  until  his  lips  almost 
touched  hers,  and  with  a  light  of  passion  and  triumph  in  his 
eyes  which  she  did  not  see ;  but  she  hastily  shrank  a, way 
from  him. 

'  No,  I  cannot,  I  will  not.  I  should  like  you  to  think 
well  of  me,'  she  said,  with  a  sweet  pleading,  lifting  her  eyes  ; 
and  the  frank,  innocent  look  touched  him  so  strangely  that 
he  could  only  inwardly  laugh  at  his  own  folly,  when  he  came 
to  think  of  it  later,  and  wonder  what  was  the  spell  by  which 
this  girl  contrived  to  bewitch  him.  All  his  various  former 
experiences  seemed  idle  and  unreal  beside  this.  He  had  made 
love  often,  sometimes  for  his  pleasure,  often  as  a  thread  in 
the  web  of  political  inti'igues  ;  but  it  had  never  absorbed 
him,  never  approached  to  possessing  the  interest  which  plots 
and  counterplots  and  the  study  of  the  men  around  him  had ; 
but  this  new  feeling  threatened  in  his  cool  middle  age  to 
master  him  and  make  him  its  slave. 

'  If  I  told  you  what  I  think  of  you ' — he  said,  but  so 
gently  as  not  to  scare  her,  though  she  flushed  and  quivered  at 


MBBE  CLAUDE.  77 

all  that  the  tone  implied.  ' "Well,  that  must  wait.  I  v.ill 
see  this  abbe,  perhaps  save  him,  too,  for  your  sake.' 

She  thanked  him  by  a  look.  He  did  not  attempt  to  stop 
her  as  she  tvii-ned  away  and  went  silently  out  of  the  i-oom, 
but  sat  down  to  think,  plan,  and  wonder  with  a  derisive  smile 
at  himself.  Edmee  returned  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
who  did  not  marvel  at  the  traces  of  agitation  in  her  looks ; 
she  herself  was  still  greatly  shocked,  but  enquired  with  sur- 
prise where  she  had  been.  '  I  thought  IMonsieur  your 
cousin  might  do  something  for  the  good  abbe,'  was  Edmee's 
answer. 

'  Ah  !  well  thought  of,  but  to  interfere  in  behalf  of  a 
priest — dare  he  do  so  ! ' 

'  He  says  he  will  try.' 

'  That  is  well.  I  do  not  at  all  approve  of  his  politics, 
though  iipon  my  word,  it  is  rather  difficult,  now  I '  come  to 
think  of  it,  to  know  what  they  are— he  is  too  much  of  a  gen- 
tleman to  obtrude  them ;  however,  if  we  must  have  a  Ee- 
publican  in  the  family,  it  is  well  to  use  him  when  he  can  help 
one.  After  all,  ^:)e<{#e,  yovi  look  better  than  when  you  went 
out  just  now — you  have  quite  a  rosy  coloiu* ;  you  ai-e  like 
me,  I  imagine — any  emotion,  even  pain,  suits  me  better  than 
a  monotonous  life.  Yes,  yes,  as  you  say,  I  lead  one  dull 
enough  just  now,  but  vihen  there  is  no  choice  I  can  endure  a 
thing  patiently.  But  I  sometimes  think  I  wovild  rather  be  in 
all  the  dangers  of  Paris  than  vegetate  safely  here.' 


CHAPTER  X. 

mSrE   CLAUDE. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  repeated  her  obsei'vation  as  to 
pei'il  in  Paris  being  preferable  to  safety,  buried  alive  en 
province,  when  DePelven  appeared  at  s\i])per-time,  and  there 
was  a  momentarv  expression  in  his  face  as  if  what  she  said 


78  NOBLESBE  OBLIGE. 

chimed  in  with  some  train  of  thought  of  his  own,  though  he 
made  no  dii'ect  answer,  and  she  began  to  speak  of  the  sight 
which  had  shocked  her  in  the  afternoon,  and  remarked  with 
appi'obation  on  his  courage  in  proposing  to  inteifere  on  the 
poor  priest's  behalf,  '  as  Edmee  tells  me  you  intend  doing,' 
she  said.  *  The  child  had  a  happy  thought  when  she  flew  to 
invoke  your  help.' 

De  Pelven  smiled,  and  looked  significantly  at  Edmee,  who 
did  not  lespond,  for  chill  doubt  was  creeping  over  her  of  what 
the  decision  of  the  abbe,  or  Alain's,  would  be.  She  never 
guessed  that  De  Pelven  was  thinking  to  himself  with  disap- 
pointment, for  which  he  derided  himself,  '  She  has  told  just 
enough  to  avert  suspicion  ...  of  course  she  has  !  "Why 
should  I  suppose  her  different  to  other  women  1  What  is  it 
that  bewitches  me  in  her?  I  have  seen  a  hundred  more 
beautiful,  a  hundred  more  spirituelle — '  but  jitst  then  Edmee 
looked  up,  and  though  he  could  not  define  the  spell,  and  half 
chafed  against  it,  half  yielding  with  mai-velling  pleasure,  he 
could  not  in  any  case  deny  that  thei-e  it  was,  holding  him  in 
fine,  invisilile  meshes,  whose  strentrth  increased  houi-ly. 

Edmee  had  fancied  that  he  would  take  measures  in  the 
priest's  behalf  that  very  evening,  and  was  disappointed  that 
he  should  stay  as  usual  playing  at  piquet,  pei'suading  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  to  sing  to  him,  talking  agreeably  as 
on  other  occasions,  though  the  various  questions  which  he 
asked  abo\it  the  abbe  showed  her  that  his  interest  in  him  was 
awakened.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  knew  enough  to  be 
able  to  give  him  infoi-mation  fully  siiflicient  to  enable  him  to 
settle  on  his  plan  of  campaign ;  the  abbe  was  a  simple  character, 
easily  read  by  a  less  keen  eye.  '  Good  ! '  reflected  De  Pelven, 
as  he  retii-ed,  with  a  gaily  tender  farewell  to  his  cousin,  and 
a  look  that  conveyed  volumes  to  Edmee,  '  to-morrow  I  will 
•see  this  man ;  his  timid  nature  will  have  had  time  to  lealise 
his  position,  and  I  shall  scarcely  find  it  diflicult  to  learn 
where  the  Chevalier  is — '  he  set  his  teeth  hard  on  his  pale 
lips  as  he  muttered  the  name,  '  and  if  he  should  refuse  ...  if 
by  chance  he  will  not  give  the  advice  I  want — there  is  no 
telling  how  women  and  priests  will  act — why,  I  can  do  with- 
out him.' 


MERE  CLA  UDE.  79 

It  was  perfectly  easy  for  a  man  in  sucli  repute  witli  tlie 
local  authorities  as  De  Pclven  to  see  any  prisoner  whom  ho 
chose,  alone  and  whenever  he  liked,  '  for  the  service  of 
the  nation.'  There  had  been  enough  of  the  ineffectual 
plots  and  risings  of  the  Eoyalist  party,  and  of  those  whom 
the  terrible  condition  of  public  aflaus  drove  to  their  side, 
through  the  province,  to  alarm  the  patriots,  and  supply  llio 
-prison,  though  one  set  after  another  had  been  drafted  off  to 
Lyons  or  Paris  itself,  when  the  capture  was  considei'ed  worthy 
of  that  dangerous  honour.  The  convent  opposite  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan's  house  had  lately  served  as  a  prison,  and 
De  Pelven  had  but  a  few  hundred  yards  to  go  to  see  the  abbe, 
after  he  had  furnished  himself  with  a  permit,  which  he  asked, 
with  scrupulous  deference  to  the  chief  in  office,  who  on  his 
side  vv-as  fei'vent  in  his  eagerness  to  forward  the  wishes  of  the 
deputy  from  Pai-is,  who  no  doubt  could  make  his  fortune  or 
have  his  head  cut  off,  though  sometimes  the  more  vehement 
Jacobins  expressed  suspicions  among  themselves  of  the  patriot- 
i.im  possible  to  a  man  of  noble  buth  with  a  De,  however  care- 
fully suppressed,  to  his  name.  He  was  absent  for  some  time, 
Edmec  observed,  and  needed  no  one  to  tell  her  where  he  had 
Ci  ne.  It  woidd  have  needed  far  more  keen-sighted  eyes  thnn 
Lcrs  to  lead  dLssatisfaclion  in  his  face  when  he  returned.  Flio 
was  just  going  out,  in  the  country  costume  which  she  always 
wore  when  she  left  the  house,  to  her  unwelcome  duty  of  mar- 
keting, and  they  met  in  the  courtyard. 

'  Y'ou  will  not  ask  me  how  I  have  sjjed  1 '  was  his  greet- 
ing, with  a  smile. 

'  But  indeed  I  very  much  wish  to  know,'  she  answered, 
meeting  his  eyes  with  the  frank  and  fearless  innocence  which 
in  fact  was  what  chiefly  fascinated  him  in  her. 

'  Well,  better  than  I  dared  hope,  my  sweet  one,  though  it 
was  self-evident  that  to  a  priest  such  a  tie  as  yoiu-s  could 
seem  no  tie,  but  a  sin.  He  luidertakes  to  communicate  with 
the  Chevalier,  but  you  must  not  ex})ect  a  written  consent 
from  him  ;  it  is  very  difficult  to  convey  papers,  and  most 
dangerous  to  be  found  the  bearer  of  any.  So  bo  satisfied,  my 
Edm6e.' 

*  I  am,'  she  murmured ;  *  now  let  me  go.' 


80  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  What !  yoii  leave  me  now?  and  for  this  miserable  mar- 
keting.' 

'  Is  it  any  reason  because  we  are  happy  that  Mademoi- 
selle should  not  be  hungry  1 '  she  laughed,  gay  with  joy  and 
relief.     '  Only  ...  I  shall  not  be  very  long  gone,  I  think.' 

There  was  joyousness  in  her  very  step  as  she  passed  out 
into  the  street ;  then  she  turned  back  so  suddenly  as  to  take 
De  Pelven  unawares  as  his  eyes  followed  her,  and  started 
with  wonder  and  alarm  at  the  strange  expression  with  which 
he  was  looking  after  her.  She  retui-ned  rather  timidly  and 
apologetically.  '  I  had  forgotten  to  ask  if  you  think  Monsieur 
I'Abbe  will  be  soon  released,'  she  said. 

*  Yes,  but  he  must  leave  this  district ;  it  will  not  do  to  re- 
lease him  openly,  you  understand.  It  must  be  supposed  that 
he  goes  away  to  be  judged  elsewhere.' 

'  Ah  !  how  glad  you  must  be  that  you  can  do  such  things  ! ' 
she  said,  and  he  watched  her  go  once  more,  and  then  laughed 
low  to  himself,  a  laugh  with  little  mii-th  in  it. 

Crowding  thoughts,  and  an  inward  treasuiy  of  joy  into 
which  she  only  let  herself  now  and  then  give  a  shy  glance, 
sent  Edmee  on  her  way,  heedless  of  her  iisnal  fears  and 
difficulties.  She  looked  up  brightiy  at  the  convent  as  she 
passed  under  its  high  walls,  glad  to  think  that  one  captive  at 
least  would  soon  be  freed,  and  by  her  intercession.  Secret 
impatience  to  return  quickened  her  steps  until  she  readied 
the  market  square,  into  which  several  streets  led  ;  it  was  the 
oldest  part  of  the  tov/n ;  cpiaiiit  wooden  houses  stood  back 
from  it,  with  doors  adorned  vrith  huge  nails,  and  high  slated 
roofs.  The  first  storey  of  many  projected  far  forward,  and 
was  supported  by  great  wooden  pillars,  dark  with  age,  and 
carved  window-sills.  The  narrow,  ill-paved  streets,  between 
high  and  silent  houses,  had  something  claustral  in  their 
gloom  and  stillness,  especially  at  this  time,  when  a  feeling  of 
vague  but  profovind  terror  and  uncertainty  pervaded  the 
tov/n,  and  no  man  felt  safe  unless  unheard  and  unseen,  but  in 
the  market  square  there  was  some  life  and  bustle.  Fruit  and 
vegetables  were  heaped  here  and  there  on  the  ground,  just 
mider  the  shelter  of  the  projecting  first-floors,  or  ovit  in  the 
free  space,  each  market-woman  sitting  by  her  stores,  and 
calliug  attention  vigorously  to  their  merits.     Buying  and 


mMre  CLA  UDE.  81 

Belling,  eating  and  driuldng,  must  go  on  whatever  happens, 
and  there  were  many  busy  housewives,  bargaining  and 
.managing  as  best  they  could  the  serioiis  diificulty  of  paying 
in  paper  money  for  which  they  could  get  no  change,  so  that 
they  had  peiforce  to  buy  up  to  the  value  of  their  assignat. 
Edmee  heard  one  angiy  buyer  lamenting  that  when  she  only 
wanted  a  few  sous'  worth  of  goods,  she  must  spend  her  note 
of  five  livres,  and  another  bewailing  the  scarcity  and  dearness 
of  provisions.  '  Lamb  at  twelve  francs  a  pound  ! '  she  cried, 
'  and  wood  at  400  francs  the  corde,  ready  money  ! '  '  It  is 
all  the  doing  of  the  emigres  and  the  calotins,'  muttered  a 
second.  Edmee  got  out  of  their  way,  and  moved  towards 
the  freer  space  round  the  fountain  in  the  middle  of  the 
square.  As  she  was  passing  it,  her  sleeve  was  roughly 
plucked  by  a  woman,  who  sat  close  to  it,  apart  from  the 
others,  beside  a  heap  of  fruit,  vegetables,  and  flowers  so 
crushed  and  carelessly  an-anged  that  no  one  had  cared  to  stop 
and  examine  them.  'Are  you  from  the  MaLson  Aignan]' 
she  asked,  in  a  low  shai-p  whisper,  and  Edmee,  standing  still, 
startled,  shrank  from  the  flashing  black  eyes  and  pallid  face. 

*  Yes,'  she  answered,  with  some  uneasiness. 

'  Listen,  then ;  I  have  a  message  for  you.  Seem  to  buy 
something — look  at  the  fruit — it  is  from  my  son,  the  Abbe 
Gerusez.' 

'  Your  son  !  Ah,  are  you  his  mother  1 '  cried  Edmee,  re- 
joicing in  the  good  news  which  she  had  to  tell. 

*  His  stepmother.  What !  you  are  like  all  the  rest,  who 
think  we  are  nothing  to  each  other  because  another  Avoman 
bore  him  ?  What  cLje  did  she  ever  do  for  him  1  Was  it  not 
I  who  loved  him  and  worked  for  b.ioi  ?  He  held  nut  his 
little  arms  to  me  the  first  time  he  saw  me,  and  my  heart 
opened  and  took  him  in,  and  he  has  been  there  ever  since. 
My  good  son  !  I  said  he  should  be  a  priest ;  I  slaved  for  it, 
night  and  day,  and  there  was  not  a  prouder  mother  in  France 
than  I  the  day  he  said  his  first  mass !  He  loves  me  well, 
my  Martin  ! ' 

'  And  you  are  not  afraid  to  be  here  1 '  said  Edm^e,  over- 
powered and  confused  by  the  vehemence  of  the  woman,  all 
tlie  more  intense  that  she  spoke  under  lier  breath,  with 
fiei'ce,  hard  self-control. 


82  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  Afraid — of  what  ?  Because  of  him  1  I  tell  you  these 
narrow  hearts  think  of  us  as  two — animals  that  they  are  ! 
"What  do  they  understand  but  flesh  and  blood  1  They  would 
imagine,  no  doubt,  that  I  should  break  my  heart  if  my 
daughter  Marie  were  in  his  place,  but  Martin,  bah  !  only 
her  stepson  !  Marie !  has  she  not  her  husband  and  child  ? 
she  does  not  want  me,  she !  but  he,  my  Martin,  he  always 
needed  the  old  mother,  always  had  a  smile  for  her.  Ah,  my 
son,  my  son,'  she  w;iiled,  wringing  her  hands,  and  with  fea- 
tures convulsed  with  anguish,  suppressed  in  a  moment  as  she 
saw  someone  coming  up,  but  it  was  only  to  glance  disdain- 
fully at  the  pile  of  vegetables,  and  pass  on. 

'  Do  not  grieve  so ;  you  will  have  him  back,'  Edmee 
whispered,  unable  to  keep  back  the  consolation  in  her  power 
to  give.     The  woman  half-started  up  and  grijiped  her  arm. 

'  Hold  your  peace,  child  !  how  should  you  know  what  to 
say  ?  Have  him  back  in  the  other  world,  you  mean  ?  What 
am  I  to  do  with  the  years  that  lie  empty  between  1  Will  he 
hold  out  his  hand  to  me  there  and  need  me  as  he  does  hei  e,  I 
ask  vou  1  He  is  too  good  for  me  here — what  will  he  be 
there  1  Wait  till  you  have  felt  like  me,  and  then,  speak  if 
you  can  ! ' 

'  I  did  not  mean  that,'  said  Edmee,  afraid  to  betray  too 
much,  and  longing  to  hear  the  message  which  hitherto  she 
had  had  no  opportunity  to  ask.  '  May  I  know  what  he 
wished  to  say  to  me  1 ' 

'  I  cannot  tell  you  here  ;  the  people  are  beginning  to 
stare ;  I  will  walk  your  way.  Well  then,  little  citoyenne,* 
she  added  in  a  pui-posely  raised  tone,  '  I  will  cai-ry  these 
things  for  you,  oar  ways  lie  together,'  and  she  rose,  as  by 
this  time  most  of  the  other  maiket-vfomen  were  doing,  and 
strode  along  hj  Edmee's  side,  with  her  heavy  l^asket  on  hor 
shoulder,  regardless  of  the  jeeis  of  some  of  her  fellow-ni«?'- 
cJiandes.  '  Tiens !  Mere  Claude,  your  basket  is  not  much 
lighter  ! '  ci-ied  one  ;  while  another,  pointing  to  Edmee,  ob- 
served, '  She  has  got  one  customer,  anyhow  !  A  vieux  chat 
jeune  souris — how  the  poor  little  thing  will  be  scolded  when 
she  gets  La  Claude's  stuff  home  ! '  '  Well,  well,'  a  third  ob- 
served good-naturedly,  '  it  is  not  often  Mere  Claude  briaga 
such  choses  de  rebut  to  market,  we  all  know  that.' 


.^  MERE  CLAUDE.  83 

But  La  Claude,  as  tLey  called  her,  passed  on  unheeding, 
only  slackening  her  pace  when  she  got  into  a  quiet  place,  and 
then  she  spoke  again.  '  Was  it  not  to  you  that  he  was  going 
the  night  he  was  arrested  ?  denounced  by  that  scoundrel  De 
Pelven,  who  lives  in  your  house  ?  How  did  he  know  my  son 
was  coming  %  From  you  1  Ah,  little  viper,  if  I  thought  so 
I  would  stiangle  you  with  my  two  hands  as  you  stand  ! ' 

But  Edmee  had  received  a  shock  which  made  her  disre- 
gard the  menace  of  the  woman  towering  above  her,  with 
eyes  aflame.  '  Denounced  by  the  Citoyen  Pelven  !  It  is  im- 
po.ssible — besides,  I  told  no  one.' 

'  Well  for  you  !  How  do  I  know  ]  That  is  easy  to  tell ; 
my  nephew  Jean — INiarius  he  calls  himself  now — is  head 
keeper  of  the  piison  .  .  .  well,  why  not  1  one  must  live,  and 
is  it  not  better  that  the  poor  creatures  thei-e  should  have  a 
gaoler  who  treats  them  well,  and  will  sometimes  contrive  to 
give  or  take  a  message  for  them  1  He  saw  your  Pelven  come 
the  other  evening  in  the  dusk,  and  ask  for  Citoyen  Droz,  who 
has  his  bureau  in  the  convent  now,  and  Jean  had  a  fancy  to 
hear  what  they  said  to  each  other — ' 

'And— and  then?' 

*  He  heard  tliat  !  He  heard  Pelven  advise  Droz  to  keep 
watch  along  the  river  at  the  foot  of  your  garden,  for  that  one 
of  those  days  he  would  catch  my  son.  My  Martin  !  he  never 
disobeyed  me  but  once,  and  that  was  v/hen  I  had  got  him 
away  into  safety,  and  he  came  back  to  his  people — Ah  ! 
hounds  that  they  are ;  who  so  much  as  tided  to  lift  up  a 
finger  to  help  him  when  he  was  dragged  through  the 
streets  1 ' 

'  What  was  his  message  to  me  1 '  asked  Edmee,  in  so 
biief  and  hard  a  voice  as  roused  even  the  M6re  Claude  from 
her  one  absorbing  thought. 

'  Pie  bids  you,  as  you  value  your  salvation,  bewai'e  of  the 
Citizen  Pelven,  and  believe  nothing  he  tolls  you,'  she  answered, 
with  a  momentai-y  wonder  and  iuterest. 

'  Oh,  if  I  could  see  Monsieur  I'Abb^ !  If  I  could  but 
speak  to  him  ! ' 

'  It  is  not  impossible — Me  they  know.  Jean  dare  not 
let  me  pass ;  but  you  ai-e  a  stranger,  a  country  girl ;  you 
could  pass  in,  jierhaps,  and  then  you  would  tell  me  how  he 


84  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

looks,  what  he  said,  if  he  needs  anj-thiag — you  promise 
thatr 

'  Yes,  I  will.' 

'  Then  try ;  see,  take  this  and  this,  and  go  to  the  door, 
asking  for  the  Citoyen  Marius — Marius,  mind ;  tell  him  liis 
aunt  seat  him  them,  and  when  no  one  hears,  say  that  I  said 
he  was  to  let  you  see  my  son.     Ah,  you  will  see  him,  you  !' 

At  another  time  Edmee  would  have  responded  to  the 
straining  wistfulness  of  the  woman's  face,  but  she  too  was 
now  full  of  one  absorbiag  thought.  She  left  the  M^re  Claude 
hiUTiedly,  without  any  farewell,  taking  the  fruit  put  into 
her  hands  almost  unconsciously,  and  went  I'apidly  to  the 
convent  door,  without  a  thought  of  the  danger  or  difficulties 
in  her  way.  Her  summons  brought  a  turnkey,  who  readily 
fetched  the  head  gaoler,  a  man  with  a  face  not  unkind,  but 
stolid  and  impassive ;  his  superiors  thought  his  quiet  dull 
manner  a  recommendation,  and  had  never  suspected  the 
lively  spii-it  of  cui-iosity  which  lay  beneath  it.  Very  few 
things  passed  among  them  with  which  '  Marius '  was  not 
peifectly  aufait.  He  nodded  ia  answer  to  Edmee's  message, 
and  observed,  '  You  are  fatigued,  my  little  cabbage  ;  you 
want  to  rest,  eh  ? — Ko  ;  you  live  close  by  1  No  matter,  I 
have  somethiug  to  send  to  the  aunt — come  in  and  wait,  for 
now  I  am  occupied.'  This  was  said  in  the  hearing  of  his 
subordinates,  one  or  two  of  whom  might  possibly  know 
Edmee  by  sight ;  he  took  her  iato  his  own  little  room,  and, 
without  closing  the  door,  but  standing  so  as  to  be  sure  no  one 
was  within  earshot,  asked  in  a  lowered  voice,  '  Now  then,  the 
other  half  of  thy  business  ? '  Edmee  had,  of  course,  only 
spoken  of  the  fruits  which  she  had  brought,  before  the  eai'S  in 
the  corridor. 

'  I  want  to  see  the  Abbe  Gurnsez.  I  want  to  know 
whether  a  message  which  the  Citoyen  Pelven  brought  me 
fi'om  him  is  true,'  she  answeied,  feeling  that  absolute  fiank- 
ness  was  her  best  weapon. 

The  gaoler  gave  a  long  whistle.  '  You  ask  enough  when 
you  ai'e  about  it,  my  lass  ! — Speak  to  oue  of  the  j.nisoi^ei'S  ! — 
So  the  Citoyen  Pelven  brought  you  a  message  from  Martin, 
did  he  ]     See,  you  shall  tell  me  what  it  was,  and  I  will  pro- 


WEAT  THE  ABBE  SAID.  85 

mise  to  get  you  a  true  answer  ;  but  you  cannot  see  him,  that 
is  impossible.' 

'  No  !  I  must  see  him,  and  no  one  will  know  that  I  have 
not  a  permit.     If  anyone  sees  me,  say  that  I  came  about 
business  of  M.  de — of  the  Citizen  Pelven's  I  mean.' 
'  And  if  he  should  be  asked  about  it,  eh  1 ' 
'  He  will  not  contradict  it,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.' 
'  It  would  be  much  better  to  tell  me,'  urged  Marius 
'  What !  you  will  not  ?    Ah,  lajeunesse  is  always  Hi-advised' 
— Edniie  could  see  that  his  curiosity  was  gaining  the  upper 
hand.     '  Well,  well,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do.     Look  here,  if 
you  go  up  that  staircase  and  turn  to  the  right  you  will  see 
another ;  it  is  one  way  into  the  choir ;  it  is  in.  the  room 
beyond  that  the  birds  are  caged.     You  will  go  down,  and 
stand  at  the  bottom,  out  of  sight.     It  is  dark  there,  for  v.e 
had  to  stop  up  a  window  to  make  the  cage  safer.     I  will  tell 
the  abbe  to  be  on  the  look-out.' 

As  Edmee  obeyed,  siie  thought  to  herself  that  her  obliging 
ally  no  doubt  had  some  lui-king  coiner  whence  he  intended  to 
overheai'  all  which  passed  ;  but  that  could  not  be  helped. 
The  one  thing  she  had  at  heait  was  to  speak  face  to  face  with 
the  Abbe  Gerusez. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WHAT   THE   ABBfi    SAID. 


Edm^ce  made  her  way  unobserved,  first  up,  then  down,  as  she 
liad  been  directed.  The  grouiul-iloor  had  been  appropriated 
to  vai-ious  uses  by  the  municipality,  but  the  one  above  was 
uuuiliabited ;  the  cells  stood  empty,  the  light  fell  on  dusty 
iloors  which  no  foot  had  crossed  for  montlis.  A  spiral  stair- 
case led  to  the  choir,  to  which  access  wa.s  barred  by  a  small 
door,  locked  and  bolted;  but  its  key  had  been  slijijjed  into 
her  hand  by  the  gaoler.  She  opened  it  so  easily  that  the 
thought  crossed  her  mind  that  ho  must  often  uijc  this  uu- 


86  JS'OBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

noticed  means  of  ingi-ess  for  his  o%vti  ends.  Tlie  clioir  wiis 
very  dark,  its  windows  having  been  boarded  up,  and  there 
was  little  trace  of  its  original  destination,  for  the  painted 
glass  was  shattered,  the  altar  demolished,  the  pavement 
wrenched  up  here  and  thei-e  in  the  search  for  Chinch  plate, 
siipposed  to  be  concealed  nnder  it.  Planks  were  piled  up, 
old  boxes,  a  bi-oken  ladder,  chairs  and  benches  weie  heaped 
together  ;  it  was  evidently  considered  the  lumber-room  of  the 
rez-cle-chaussee.  Edmee  came  cautiously  do^vn  the  last  step, 
and  into  the  gloom,  ventui-ing  at  length  to  look  thi-ough  the 
dooi-  which  led  into  a  corridor,  with  a  grating  perhaps  lately 
erected  at  each  end,  and  another  door,  open,  through  which 
she  could  see  the  long,  bare  room  in  which  the  prisoners  were 
lodged.  Throvigh  this  room,  and  the  passage,  and  the  choir, 
they  could  move  about  at  will,  but  the  rest  of  the  church 
and  garden  was  forbidden  to  them,  and  they  could  only  see 
a  tree- top  here  and  there  thi-ough  the  high  windows.  One 
set  of  prisoners  after  another  had  occupied  the  space  into 
which  Edmee  was  looking  ;  after  a  short  time  they  were  sent 
away  to  be  tried — seldom  indeed  to  be  released.  There  wero 
some  twenty  people  there  now,  some  walking  up  anddov\^n,  with 
steps  slow  or  impetuous,  as  hopelessness  or  impatience  of  the 
resti-aint  prevailed  in  each  heai't ;  several  were  sitting  at  a 
long  table,  leaning  their  heads  silently  on  their  hands  ;  two 
were  playing  at  backgammon,  and  seemed  to  take  a  lively 
interest  in  their  game,  and  a  few  were  talking  together. 
There  were  four  or  five  priests,  and  a  sprinkling  of  gentle- 
men ;  but  the  gi'eater  part  were  ai-tisans,  or  tradesmen,  de- 
nounced perhaps  by  unsuccessful  rivals.  In  a  few  moments 
a  turnkey  came  in,  bringing  a  heap  of  straw,  which  he  threw 
down,  and  bade  the  prisoners  divide  as  best  they  could  for 
their  beds.  Another  followed  with  a  pitcher  of  water,  and  a 
second  of  their  soup,  which  was  all  that  the  municipal 
authoi'ities  judged  necessary  to  furnish  in  the  way  of  food. 
If,  however,  a  prisoner  had  friends  with  coui-age  enough  to 
call  attention  on  themselves  who  would  send  him  jii'O visions, 
or  had  a  bundle  of  assignats  to  share  between  his  purchases 
and  a  gaoler,  the  scanty  meal  might  be  supplemented,  and 
some  of  the  prisoners  had  private  stores,  which  were  brought 


WHAT  THE  ABB^  SAW.  87 

out  when  the  turnkeys  were  gone.  If  Edmee  had  been  in  a 
mood  for  observing  humaii  nature,  she  v/ould  have  found  a 
various  study  in  the  way  in  which  some  tmbhishingly  con- 
sumed their  stores,  under  the  hungry  eye  of  others,  who  had 
only  the  meagre  prison  fare,  while  several  shrank  a  little 
apart,  half  ashamed  of  themselves,  but  reluctant  to  part  v/ith 
their  bread,  or  eggs,  or  biitter,  Sevei'al  shared  all  they  had 
with  a  neighbour,  with  a  cheerful  and  genial  readiness  which 
brightened  even  this  gloomy  place.  Edmee  saw  more  than 
one  oifer  something  to  the  Abbe  Gerusez,  who  had  eaten  with 
relish  his  dish  of  soup,  but  he  always  declined,  smiling,  and 
evidently  suggesting  some  other  recipient,  and  walked  up  and 
down,  with  quiet  steps,  a  little  book  of  devotions  in  his  hand, 
which  had  escaped  the  notice  of  his  captors,  though  his 
breviaiy  had  been  taken  from  him.  He  looked  pale,  but  his 
face  had  lost  the  anxious  and  haggard  air  which  she  had  seen 
on  it  when  they  met  before,  and  had  regained  the  cheerful, 
pleasant  expression  familiar  to  it  in  earlier  days.  Certainty, 
even  of  a,lmost  inevitable  death,  v/as  less  terrible  to  him  than 
the  hunted  life,  bristling  with  dangers,  known  and  unknown, 
which  he  had  been  leading.  Edmee  thought  there  was  not 
one  priest  there,  though  several  were  well-boi-u,  and  far  more 
intellectual-looldng,  whom  she  should  so  readily  trust  as  the 
peasant-abbe.  He  stopped  occasionally,  and  spoke  gently 
now  to  one,  now  to  another,  even  to  a  piiest  whom  all  the 
other  ecclesiastics  seemed  markedly  to  shun,  and  eye  askance, 
though  he  seemed  a  humble,  inoflensive  creature,  and  looked 
cUstressed  and  pained  by  the  pointed  disdain  shown  him  by 
his  fellow-ecclesiastics,  to  whom  as  djureur,  a  man  vrho  had 
taken  the  oath  of  obedience  to  the  Convention,  he  was  a 
renegade,  an  apostate,  and  a  castaway.  He  was  now  arrested 
on  the  charge  of  want  of  ])atriotism  in  refusing  to  marry. 

Edmee  was  beginning  to  despair  of  ever  speaking  to  the 
Abbe  Gerusez,  who  never  came  within  reach  of  such  a  call 
as  she  dared  give,  when  she  saw  Marius  come  in,  carrying 
the  fruit  which  she  had  broxight  him,  and  a  loaf  which  must 
have  come  out  of  his  own  cupboard.  He  summoned  the 
abbe  in  a  harsh  and  pei'emptory  tone,  and  diopped  half  the 
fi.'uit  on  the  floor,  as  rf  on  purjiose  to  give  him  the  trouble  of 


88    ,  NOBLESSE  OBLIOK 

picking  them  up,  with  an  affectation  of  insolence  which  he 
always  assumed  towards  this  prisoner,  lest  he  should  be  sup- 
posed to  favour  him  as  a  connection  and  old  friend.  '  There  ! 
take  them,'  those  near  heard  him  say,  as  the  abbe,  who  knew 
his  tactics,  stooped  and  smiled  unseen ;  '  is  the  time  of  good 
patiiots  to  be  thrown  away  in  waiting  on  a  pig  of  a  mlotin  ? ' 
But  he  contiived,  as  they  stood  close  together,  to  add  a  few 
words  for  his  ear  alone,  which  made  him  start  and  look 
towards  the  other  end  of  the  hall,  up  which,  after  giving 
away  the  best  part  of  his  unexpected  stores  to  those  least  well 
suppHed,  he  slowly  walked,  unobserved,  for  it  was  a  usual 
thing  for  one  or  another  of  the  priests  to  spend  an  hour  iii 
prayer  in  the  deseci'ated  chapel,  which  at  least  offered  them 
solitude  and  quiet,  crossed  the  passage,  and  stood  before 
Edmee,  saying  in  the  kind  voice  which  had  attracted  her 
when  she  first  met  him,  '  God  be  with  you,  daughter  ;  I  had 
not  ventui'cd  to  hope  that  we  were  to  meet.'  She  caught 
his  rough  peasant  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  he  felt  rather  than 
sav/  her  agitation.  '  Hush,  hush,  my  jjoor  child ;  is  it  for 
me  you  are  troubled?  Do  not  waste  your  tears;  I  am  a 
happy  man  compared  to  what  I  was  when  I  saw  you  before ; 
I  have  nothing  now  to  fear.' 

'  Oh,  then  it  was  true  .  .  .  you  are  to  be  freed  1 '  she 
cried,  with  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  instantly  changed  into  the 
bitterest  disappointment  ])y  his  quiet  answer,  '  Freed,  yes  .  .  . 
freed  from  sin  and  failure,  and  the  fear  of  my  own  weakness. 
I  and  my  fellow-priests  go  to  Paris  to-moi-row.' 

Edmee  stood  dumb,  then  with  a  wail  of  pain,  more,  after 
all,  for  herself  than  anyone  else,  she  said,  '  Your  poor  mother  ! ' 

'  Ah,  my  mother,'  and  his  voice  shook,  as  he  spoke  the 
name  with  deep  tenderness.  '  My  dear,  good  mother  !  but 
even  she  must  suffer  less  now  than  when  she  was  fearing  for 
me  from  morning  till  night  and  niglit  till  morning.'  He 
paused,  thinking  how  the  passionate  supplications  of  Mere 
Claude  had  moved  him,  more  even  than  his  natural  timidity, 
to  that  action  which  he  had  i-epented  with  the  bitterest  shame, 
and  expiated  since  by  returning  into  the  thick  of  danger. 
'  God  bless  her  !  Tell  her,  if  you  can,  that  all  was  easy  and 
welcome  except  leaving  her ;   yes,  that  is  hard.      But,  my 


WHAT  THE  ABBE  SAID.  89 

daughter,  you  have  made  your  way  here  to  confess  to  me  1 
There  is  no  time  to  lose.' 

He  sat  down  on  a  box,  awaitin»  her  words  :  but  Edmee's 
foremost  puipose  was  not  what  he  supposed. 

'  Mon  pere — fii-st,  have  you  seen  M.  de  Pelven  1 ' 

'  1  have  ;  and  you,  did  you  receive  my  message  1 '  he  an- 
swered with  a  tinge  of  sternness. 

'  He  told  me  that  he  had  seen  you  .  .  .  that  you  did  not 
think  me  hound  to  [Monsieur  le  Chevalier.' 

*  Did  he  !  did  he  !  Ah, — and  you  believed  him  1 ' 

'  Yes.  Ah,  mo7i  pere,  never  mind  that,  it  can  wait — but 
tell  me  what  passed  between  him  and  you.' 

'  He  asked  for  Monsieur  your  husband's  addi-ess,  for 
tidings  of  him,  which  I  could  not  give;  he  then  sought  to 
learn  by  stealth  as  it  were,  whether  I  would  pronounce  you 
free,  appealing  to  me  as  a  priest,  for  he  is  a  clever  man,  this 
De  Pelven,  and  knows  how  to  load  one  in  the  track  he  de- 
sires. I  could  but  say  that  to  me  it  seemed  that  since  you 
had  both  consented  to  the  union,  you  were  bound,  and  ought 
to  accom])lish  it  by  the  religious  rite  as  soon  as  possible.  He 
tried  hard  to  get  a  contrary  opinion  out  of  me,  and  told  me, 
at  first  by  h^nts,  then  plainly,  that  unless  I  would  give  him 
a  written  decision  such  as  he  wished,  I  was  a  dead  m;in. 
Ah,  he  knows  human  nature  ...  he  is  a  tenibly  skilful 
tempter,  that  De  Pelven ;  had  I  been  less  weaiy  of  life, 
and  if  I  did  not  remember  how  I  suffered  after  my  flight, 
when  conscience  was  against  me,  I  must  have  yielded  !  iJut 
it  was  not  worth  while,'  added  the  abbe,  with  a  sad  smile. 
*My  child,  I  have  prayed  earnestly  for  you;  you  are  in 
mortal  peril  ...  do  you  love  this  man  1 ' 

'  I  did.' 

*  Poor  child  !  you  think,  now  that  you  have  newly  leamt 
his  baseness,  that  you  love  hi lu  no  more  ;  but  when  you  seo 
him  again,  when  you  come  into  daily  contact  with  him,  how 
will  it  be  ■? ' 

'I  shall  never  love  him  any  more.' 

'You  fancy  so,  like  hundreils  of  other  women,  who  count 
too  much  on  their  own  sti'ength  where  the  man  tlu-y  love  is 
concerned.  But  listen,  my  daughter — has  ho  ever  spoken  of 
marriage  to  you  ] ' 


90  IfOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Edmee  looked  straight  in  his  face,  bewildered.  Then, 
her  pale  face  colouring  all  over,  she  answered,  '  No ;  but  he 
never  spoke  of  love  till  yesterday.' 

'  And  never  will  speak  of  anything  else.  Child,  you 
stand  on  a  precipice.' 

Edmee  hardly  heai'd  the  kind,  anxious  voice  ;  the  earnest 
advice  v.diich  followed  fell  dull  on  her  ear.  She  stood  before 
the  abbe  stunned,  speechless  ;  she  did  not  know  what  he  said, 
or  whether  she  answered,  and  was  only  roused  by  the  door 
by  which  she  had  come  into  the  chapel  being  opened,  while 
ISiarius  thrust  his  head  in,  saying  impatiently,  '  Have  yon 
not  said  enough  to  each  other  yet,  you  two  1  The  clock 
strikes,  and  you  stay,  as  if  you  were  at  home  here !  Come 
then,  I  have  risked  enough  to  please  you ;  come,  I  say,  there 
is  no  time  for  farewells  :  and  hold  your  tongue,  my  girl,  about 
having  seen  him,  or  your  head,  as  well  p^s  mine,  will  "wag. 
Come  along.'  He  enforced  his  adch'ess  by  an  outstretched 
hand,  and  she  yielded  to  the  gi'asp,  looking  with  piteous  eyes 
at  the  abbe,  and  murm\iring,  '  Yet  I  did  so  pray  to  be  helped  ! ' 

'  And  you  have  beon  heard,  for  your  way  has  been  made 
clear  before  yoti,  my  child  ;  you  have  been  shown  what  this 
man  is,'  replied  the  priest,  pityingly.  She  just  heard  the 
words  as  she  was  hurried  through  the  door,  which  Marius 
locked  and  bolted  fast.  '  Have  I  been  heard  1 — Thus  !  thus  ! ' 
she  kept  repeating  to  herself,  with  a  kind  of  terror,  as  if  her 
prayer,  instead  of  bringing  comfoi-t,  had  been  flung  back  like 
a  missile  to  strike  her,  and  she  was  deaf  to  whatever  the 
gaoler  might  be  saying,  and  hardly  kuev/  when  or  how  she 
found  herself  in  the  street,  with  but  a  few  s'.eps  betv/een  her 
and  the  Maison  St.  Aignan.  Time  to  think  over  what  she 
had  heard  thei'C  was  none,  but  she  knew  it  was  true — under- 
stood how  she  had  been  dealt  with,  and  recoiled,  as  only  a 
pure  and  innocent  girl  could,  from  the  deception  practised 
upon  her,  the  intentions  which  De  Pelven  had  harboured 
towards  her,  recoiled  with  a  strength  of  indignation  which 
sv.'ept  away  that  dawning  love  that,  in  a  natiu-e  like  Edmee's, 
might  have  become  a  master  passion.  She  was  one  of  those 
women  who  must  esteem  where  they  love ;  to  endure  the 
companionship  of  any  whom  she  could  not  re:s])ect  was  almost 
intolerable  j  to  give  them  a  place  in  her  heart  absolule'y  im- 


WHAT  TILE  ABBJsJ  SAID.  91 

possible.  India:iiation  burned  so  hot  within  her  that  she 
walked  unflinchingly  into  the  salon,  though  she  heard  voices 
there  that  warned  her  she  must  meet  De  Pelven.  She  saw 
him  make  a  gesture  as  if  gently  protesting  against  something, 
while  Mademoiselle  de  8t.  Aignan  was  spealdng  vehemently, 
with  herd  han  on  a  newspaper,  which  she  seemed  to  have 
pushed  away  from  her  on  the  table.  '  Forgive  me,  it  was  in- 
exoisable  thoughtlessness  to  have  left  it  in  your  way,'  he  was 
saying ;  and  then  they  saw  Edmee.  and  he  instantly  perceived 
that  a  change  had  come  over  her  since  they  parted.  '  She  has 
learnt  something  ! '  he  said  inwardly,  but  aloud  he  asked 
gaily,  '  And  what  have  you  purcha.sed  to-day,  mademoiselle  1' 
Her  pride  in  her  economy  and  successful  marketings  Avas  often 
a  subject  of  jest  between  them. 

*  A  little  knov.ledge,  monsieur,'  she  answered,  looking  up 
at  him  with  an  expression  which  until  now  he  had  never  seen 
in  those  soft,  Spanish  eyes,  fringed  with  long  jet-black  lashes. 

'  A  little  knowledge  ?  that  is  apt  to  be  a  dangerous  com- 
modity, and  cost  dear,'  he  answered  signLlcantly.  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan  interrupted,  unheeding  the  by-plav.  '  This 
child  shall  judge;  she  can  have  no  prejudices  either  wav. 
Listen,  2}etite  ;  the  question  is  whether  we  stay  here  or  go  to 
Paris,  where  my  cousin  can  still  protect  us — he  is  obliged 
very  soon  to  return  theie,  and  hero  danger  thickens  every 
hour.  In  this  very  newspaper,  which  he  chanced  to  leave 
about,  I  read  that  at  Lyons  four  of  my  oldest  friends  have 
been  guillotined,  last  week  ;  one,  a  nun,  the  best  woman  I 
ever  knew,  was  forced  to  stand  by  the  guillotine,  waiting  for 
death  while  an  ass  dressed  up  in  a  priest's  vestment,  with  a 
mitre  on  its  head,  was  led  round  and  round  it,  with  the  mob 
shouting  out  their  ribaldry  !  Hero  the  popular  tem])er  grows 
worse  every  day — you  have  felt  it  yourself,  M.  de  Pelven 
has,  1  am  confident,  risked  much  to  defend  us  so  long — ' 

'  J  low  should  we  be  safer  at  Paris,  mademoiselle  1 ' 

*  We  might  escape  notice  there,'  said  Mademoi.selle  do  St, 
Aignan,  quite  iniconscious  that  she  was  repeating  what  Do 
I'elven  had  previously  suggested  to  her  mind,  and  fully  b#- 
licving  the  train  of  thought  was  her  own.  '  Hero  it  is  im- 
])033ible.    I  am  marked  out  by  my  residence,  my  name.    Thero, 


92  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

called — let  me  see, — ah,  my  Christian  name  will  do — the 
Citoyenne  Valentin,  we  shovild  be  insignificant  atoms  in  a 
crowd.' 

'  Does  monsieur  advise  this  ? ' 

'  I  dare  not  advise  either  way,  mademoiselle ;  the  respon- 
sibility is  too  great ;  all  that  I  can  say  is  that  my  whole  in- 
tei'est,  such  as  it  is,  my  cousin  can  entirely  dispose  of,'  said 
De  Pelven,  perceiving  that  to  thi-ow  a  few  drops  of  cold  water 
on  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  scheme  would  only  make  her 
I'esolution  to  carry  it  out  the  hotter. 

'  We  must  go,'  she  said  decisively.  '  There  is  no  choice, 
unless  we  mean  to  visit  Paris  without  our  own  consent,  like 
the  poor  wretches  who  have  already  gone  from  here  ;  of  course 
we  must  go  ;  you  cannot  help  seeing  it  1 '  she  added  impa- 
tiently, unaware  of  Edmee's  many  strong  reasons  for  doubting 
the  advisability  of  the  scheme. 

'I  should  stay  here,'  said  Edmee,  briefly,  much  to  the 
indignation  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 

*  Stay  here,  you  very  foolish  cliild,  when  I  have  shown 
you  distinctly  that  it  is  impossibly  dangerous  1  Why  do  you 
not  tell  her  so,  my  coiisin  1  I  shall  begin  to  think  you  aie 
afraid  of  the  risk  of  protecting  me,  if  you  persist  in  opposing 
me  !  Yes,  yes,  I  know  that  you  have  said  nothing  !  is  it  not 
that  of  which  I  complain  1  and  when  yoii  know  too  that  I 
am  perishing  of  ennui  here  !  I  enduied  it  well  enough  till 
you  came,  but  after  having  some  society,  and  coming  back  to 
life  again,  am  I  to  be  plunged  into  an  abyss  of  dulness 
afresh  1  I  tell  you  I  have  not  courage  for  it.  No,  we  go  to 
Paris,  it  is  decided,'  cried  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  stimu- 
lated by  the  mute  deprecation  of  the  looks  and  gestures  with 
which  he  replied  to  each  sentence,  though  without  attempting 
to  slip  in  a  word.     '  Do  you  hear,  petite  ?     We  go  to  Paris.' 

Edmee  was  silent ;  she  could  not  explain  openly  why  she 
objected  with  all  her  strength  to  this  scheme,  all  the  more  that 
she  felt  sure  De  Pelven  had  somehow  brought  it  about. 

He  now  said,  with  a  little  shrug,  '  In  that  case,  were  it 
not  useless,  I  should  advise  you,  dear  cousin,  to  look  as  little 
grande  dame  as  possible,  but  I  fear  that  Nature  is  too  strong 
for  any  disguise  to  be  of  much  avail.     At  least,  recollect  that 


WHAT  THE  ABB^  SAID.  93 

yoii  might  as  well  put  on  your  shroud  at  once  as  silks  and 
brocades.  I  do  entreat  yoix,  wear  a  plain  cotton  dress,  and 
avoid  unpopular  colours.     ISTothing  is  a  trifle  now.' 

'  Ti-ue,  I  will  do  so,  and  this  child  too.  Now  let  us 
dine,  and  then  we  will  make  such  preparations  as  we  can,' 
sai'l  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  gaily,  her  spirits  rising  at 
the  thought  of  change.  '  You  will  undertake  to  find  us  a 
lodging,  with  a  good  patriot,  my  cousin,  who  will  not  be  too 
clear-sighted,  nor  cheat  us  too  much,  for  my  resources  are  not 
unbounded,  I  can  tell  you.' 

Edmee  was  so  busy  vmder  her  directions  all  the  rest  of  the 
day,  working  at  the  dresses  required  in  order  to  avoid  attract- 
ing immediate  attention,  helping  to  decide  what  could  be 
taken,  and  what  left,  that  De  Pelven  had  no  opportunity  of  a 
word  with  her  until  night,  when  he  found  an  instant  to  stoj) 
her  unobserved,  and  look  enquuingly  in  her  face.  He  could 
hear  her  heart  beat,  but  her  first  words  were  not  what  he  ex- 
pected. '  Monsieur,  why  have  you  made  mademoiselle  go  to 
Paris  ? '  she  demanded. 

'  That  unha})py  gazette !  I  little  thought  I  had  left  it  here — •* 

'  I  asked  you  why  you  desii-ed  this  going  to  Paris,  mon- 
sieur.' 

*  It  is  welcome  to  me,  most  welcome.  I  do  not  aflfect  to 
deny  it ;  surely  you  can  guess  the  reason  ]  How  else  could  I 
have  still  had  you  within  reach  1 ' 

'  Never  speak  to  me  again  as  if  we  could  be  more  than 
strangere,  monsieur]  Enemies,  if  you  please,  but  friends 
never  again  ! ' 

'My  pretty  Edmee,  it  might  be  more  dangerous  fan 
you  imagine  to  have  me  as  an  enemy,'  he  replied,  with  a 
slight  ominous  smile.  '  Much  more  dangerous,  for  you — and 
for  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.' 

The  last  words  were  spoken  veiy  quietly  and  clearly ; 
Edmee  started  as  if  ho  had  stabbed  her.  '  You  are  cruel ! ' 
she  murmured,  feeling,  as  he  meant  she  should,  how  much 
the  calmly-spoken  threat  conveyed,  and  how  great  a  hold  it 
gave  him  over  her. 

'  I  am  never  ci'uel  unless  circumstances  leave  me  na 
choice,  sweet  Edm6e,'  he  answered,  and  she  heard  him  laugh 


94  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

low  to  himself  as  he  let  her  go,  shuddering.  He  knew  that 
the  defenceless  gii-1  was  at  his  mercy,  but  as  he  thought  over 
the  scheme  his  pale  mobile  featvires  seemed  to  harden  into  in- 
flexible resolution,  and  a  sudden  flush  passed  over  them,  leav- 
ing them  more  ivory-like  and  fixed  than  before.  The  percep- 
tion that  she  had  somehow  detected  him,  that  the  heart  wliich 
had  almost  given  itself  to  him  had  revolted  and  was  free 
again,  intensified  his  determination  to  gain  her  at  any  cost. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

APARTMENTS    IN    PARIS. 


In  so  far  as  De  Pelven  had  given  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
to  understand  that  she  was  in.  growing  danger  at  JMortemart, 
lie  had  not  deceived  her.  The  Jacobin,  party,  cxasi)erated  by 
the  bra\'^  though  vain  efforts  of  Lyons  to  shake  off  their 
terrible  yoke,  had  besieged  and  taken  the  unhappy  town  in 
the  beginning  of  October,  and  massacre  and  proscriptions  in- 
stantly began.  '  Lyons  made  war  on  freedom  :  Lyons  is  no 
more,'  said  BaiT^re,  before  the  Committee  of  Public  Salvation, 
and  the  very  name  of  the  unhappy  city  was  suppressed,  and 
it  was  ordered  to  be  thenceforward  known  as  the  '  Commune 
Affi'anchie.'  For  six  months  workmen  were  employed  in 
demolishing  the  chief  houses  of  Lyons ;  the  stately  Place  de 
Bellecourt  became  a  heap  of  i-uins,  and  since  the  guillotine 
could  not  dispose  fast  enough  of  the  prisoners,  cannon  loaded 
with  gi-apfeshot  were  used  to  make  speedy  work  of  whole 
batches  of  victims.  The  Jacobin  emissaries,  sent  down  from 
Paris,  sought  far  and  wide  for  fresh  prey ;  even  small  towns, 
off  the  main  roads,  and  scarcely  known  beyond  their  imme- 
diate district,  like  Mortemai-t,  were  visited  and  exhoi-ted  to 
show  their  patriotism  by  detectiug  fugitives,  and  sending  a 
good  show  of  prisonere  to  Lyons  or  Paris.  There  were  moments 
when  the  danger  was  so  sweej)U)g  that  De  Pelven  trembled 


APARTMENTS  IN  PARIS.  95 

foi"  himself,  ancl  for  Edmee.  But  for  her  he  ■would  not  have 
attempted  to  protect  INIademoisore  de  St.  Aic;Tian  ;  hut  as  yet 
he  had  not  seen  his  way  to  saving  the  one  without  the  other. 
His  vahie  to  the  leading  Ecpub'icans  in  Paris  was  his  strong- 
hold, and.  though  at  the  risk  of  involving  the  two  women  in 
even  gi-eater  danger  at  a  later  time,  lie  secured  them  from 
immediate  aiTest  by  declaiing  that  they  were  necessaiy  to  him, 
as  means  of  uni'avelling  the  conspiracy  which  he  had  come  to 
Moi'temai't  to  detect.  He  tnisted  to  his  own  powers  of  con- 
ducting an  intiigxie  to  save  Edmee  later ;  perhaps  her  hostess 
too,  if  it  would  suit  him.  It  was  by  the  same  jn-etext  that  he 
secured  for  them  a  free  passport  for  Paris,  and  it  was  out  of 
the  question  tliat  the  diligence  shouM  stoj)  openly  at  the 
Maison  St.  Aignan  to  take  them.  Their  luggage  was  earned 
away  late  at  night,  and  loaded  unnoticed  at  the  '  auberge,' 
where  it  changed  hoi-ses — the  euberge,  once  known  as  '  lia 
Croix  Blanche,'  but  now  designated  as  '  Bon  Patiiote ; '  and 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  and  Edmee  walked  out  in  the 
dusk  half  a  mile  along  the  road,  escorted  by  De  Pelven,  to 
await  the  lumbenng  vehicle.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
found  her  emlon point  and  her  high  heels  combine  to  make 
thi.s  walk  so  difficult  that  she  laxighing'y  reminded  Edmee 
how  she  had  always  declared  that  Natui-e  and  ftishion  alike 
rendered  flight  impossible  to  her.  Edmee  could  only  secret'y 
wonder  at  her  gaiety,  and  watch  the  foce  of  De  Pelven,  calm 
and  unmoved,  but  she  knew  it  well  enough  to  detect  con- 
cealed aixxiety  and  a  look  of  relief  when  the  roll  of  wheels  and 
loud  clack  of  a  whip  told  that  the  dili'jence  was  approaching. 

'There  it  ir; !  Ah,  you  never  thought  we  sliouUl  got  oil* 
safely,  mnn  cotisin,'  ci"icd  ]\Iadcmoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  laugh- 
ingly. '  What !  you  thought  I  did  not  see  that  1  Wou'd  it 
have  made  it  easier  to  you  and  tlie  child  if  1  had  stood  shaking 
and  weeping  ]  Your  hand,  to  help  me  in,  since  the  gentle- 
man whom  I  see  already  seated  does  not  seem  inclined  to 
assist  me  ! ' 

The  diiver  had  licon  on  the  look-out  for  them  ;  he  ex- 
changed a  Ux>k  with  De  Pelven;  tiiewhi])  clacked,  tlic  hoi-ses 
pulled,  and  they  lumbered  on  along  the  white  road,  stretching 
out  like  a  long  ribbon,  \w  one  hill,  down  another,  between 


96  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

dusty  elms,  tixming  yellow  and  sere,  past  slow-gliding  streams 
and  poor  mud- built  villages,  at  considerable  distances  from 
each  other,  where  thin,  haggard  peasants  looked  after  them, 
and  lean  dogs  followed  barking.  The  people  seemed  miserably 
fed  and  clothed,  and  in  the  to^^"ns  where  they  changed  horses 
there  was  an  indesci-ibable  aii"  of  teiTor  and  depression,  but 
the  face  of  the  country  bore  tokens  of  a  chang-e  for  the  better. 
BaiTen  tracts  were  being  brought  into  cultivation ;  stubble- 
fields  showed  that  corn  had  been  sown  and  reaped ;  labourers 
were  worldng  with  the  energy  of  men  toiling  for  themselves 
and  not  for  their  masters,  and  if  women  still  harnessed  them- 
seh'es  to  the  plough,  it  was  no  longer  with  dull  and  hopeless 
submission  to  an  ii-resistible  authority,  but  on  ground  which 
was  their  own.  Oppi'essive  and  unjust  as  the  sale  of  Church 
lands  and  bien  cVemigres  was,  the  efiect  on  the  prosperity  of 
the  counti-y  could  not  but  be  good  in  the  end,  foi-  the  seig- 
neurs had  kept  great  part  of  the  countiy  fallow  for  hunting 
purposes,  and  the  rights  of  the  convents  had  fallen  crushingly 
on  the  peasantry,  who  bore  the  chief  burden  of  taxation,  and 
wei-e  worse  off  then  than  in  any  civilised  part  of  Europe. 
Tolls  and  imposts  met  them  at  eveiy  turn,  miseiy  brutalLsed 
the  very  women. 

The  only  other  occupant  of  the  diligence  was  the  man 
whose  want  of  politeness  scandalised  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan.  Kis  costume  max'ked  him  out  as  an  ardent  enrage ; 
he  had  a  sallow  face,  a  great  deal  of  dark  hair,  and  equally 
dark  eyebrows,  and  there  was  something  theatrical  about  him 
which  suggested  that  he  had  been  or  was  an  actor.  He  cast 
evil  and  ominovis  looks  towards  the  three  who  had  just  got  in, 
opened  a  newspaper,  and  in  a  stentorian  voice  began  reading 
aloud,  evidently  with  the  hope  of  rousing  or  startling  them 
into  some  expression  of  opinion,  such  details  of  the  scenes 
passing  at  Paris  and  Lyons,  that  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
tiirned  pale,  and  Edmee  recalled  with  sickening  hoiTor  the 
talk  only  too  familiar  to  her  eai-s  among  Leroux's  chosen 
friends.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  coloured  handkerchief 
and  cotton  dress  were  indeed  a  very  thin  disguise ;  she  looked 
an  unmistakable  aristoci-at,  Edmee  too  had  much  the  same 
air,  and  De  Pelven's  di'ess  and  haughtilj-refined  features  told 


APARTMENTS  IN  PARIS.  97 

thoir  tales  of  rank  so  clearly  that  to  feign  himself  anything 
but  a  noble  ■wonld  have  been  vain  indeed.  It  was  with  mani- 
fest surprise  that  their  alarming  fellow-traveller  heard  himself 
addressed  with  some  remark  which  showed  a  knov/ledge  of 
who  he  was,  and  intimate  acquaintance  wTith  other  Jacobin 
leaders.  A  stare  of  incredulous  suspicion  showed  that  the 
observation  was  received  as  a  shallow  ruse,  but  a  few  more 
words  had  their  effect,  and  Edmee  felt  mingled  relief  and 
aversion  as  she  saw  theii*  companion  begin  an  eager  conversa- 
tion with  De  Pelven,  whose  name  he  soon  learned  Avith  instant 
recognition,  and  ceased  to  glare  at  them.  He  molested  them 
no  more,  and  as  he  stopped  half  way  to  Paris,  they  got  rid  of 
him  sooner  than  they  could  have  hoped.  When  he  had  left 
thein  De  Pelven  looked  at  his  comj^anions,  and  said,  '  Collet 
d'Herbois ! ' 

It  was  a  long  and  fatiguing  journey,  now  through  forest- 
land  and  by  empty  ruined  chateaux,  now  among  the  vine- 
yards of  Bui-gxindy ;  they  slept  once  or  twice  in  some  mise- 
rable and  exoibitant  inn  ;  but  De  Pelven  was  in  haste  to  get 
to  Paris,  and  there  seemed  a  sense  of  safety  in  reaching 
■  then-  destination,  so  that  they  hardly  thought  of  their  weari- 
ness until  reaching  it,  and  then,  though  Edmee  was  not  only 
exhausted  but  depi-essed,  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was 
still  gay,  amused,  and  amvising.  All  the  anxieties  and  doubts 
seemed  to  fall  to  the  younger  one's  share.  It  was  indignant 
misery  to  her  to  be  there  in  constant  companionship  with  De 
Pelven,  to  feel,  as  he  made  her  do  in  a  thousand  impercep- 
tible ways,  that  they  were  in  his  power.  He  understood  her 
now  well  enough  to  know  that  his  only  hope  of  conquering 
her  lay  in  making  her  fear  him,  but  he  had  not  yet  realised 
the  strength  of  passive  resistance  and  resentment  in  the  girl 
who  seemed  so  easily  cowed ;  and  when  she  shrank  and  grew 
silent  he  thought  that  he  was  gainbig  ground.  He  did  not 
see  that  it  was  not  the  deceit  practised  on  hei'self  that  she 
could  not  forgive  ;  but  the  downfall  of  her  ideal,  an  ex- 
quisite pang  which  he  could  not  even  imagine,  though  a  sense 
that  if  she  yielded  he  should  lose  all  which  bewitched  him  in 
her  would  cross  his  mind. 

Paris  was  unusually  quiet  when  they  drove  up  to  the 


98  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

barrifere  in  the  early  mornmg.     The  necessary  formalities 
•were  soon  gone  through,  without  any  of  the  delays  which 
Edmee  had  expected,  and  the  hour  was  so  early  that  the 
streets  had  a  strange,  deserted  look.     IMademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  i-ecalled  with  a  little  incredulity  accounts  of  half- 
naked,  drunken  crowds,  bi-andishing  pikes,  and  shouting  re- 
volutionary songs,  and  asked,  as  she  looked  from  the  windows 
of  the  diligence  on  the  empty  streets   and   closed   hoiises, 
whether  there  had  not  been  some  exas:£ceration.     All  seemed 
to  justify  the  enquiry,  for  even  that  terrible  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine,  once  an  aristocratic  part  of  Pai-is,   but  now  the 
head-quaiters   of   the  woist   and    lowest   of   the   populace, 
seemed  sleeping.     Edmee  looked  involuntarily  at  De  Pelven 
as  the  question  was  asked,  and  saw  it  answered  by  one  of 
his   brief  and   meaning   smiles,   and   Mademoiselle   de    St, 
Aignan  was   too   much   inteiested   ia  looking   out   of  her 
Avindow,  making  out  through  what  streets  they  were  driving, 
and  recognising  first  one  and  then  another  building  which  she 
had  seen  on  former  \isits  years  before,  to  notice  his  silence,  but 
on  Edmee  it  made  a  deep  and  painful  impression.      The 
■whole  city  was  full  of  horror  to  her ;  she  dreaded  at  eveiy 
turn  to  see  the  gi-eat  structiu-e  of  the  guillotine  rising  aloft, 
or  to  meet  a  death-cai-t  loaded  with  victims,  perhaps  the 
Abbe  Gerusez  amonsr  them,  if  he  had  ^  et  reached  Paris.     She 
too  had  heard  of  the  scenes  in  Pai-is,  not  from  an  occasional 
newspaper,  like  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  but  from  eye- 
witnesses, who  had  given  fidl  details  with  gloating  triumph 
in  Leroux's  house.     ]Many  a  time  since  had  her  dreams  been 
haunted  by  the  roar  of  voices,  the  shiieks  of  murdered  vic- 
tims, the  heads  borne  aloft  on  pikes,  by  hideous  gi-oups,  mad 
with  blood  and  fury.     Lately  Mere  Claude  had  constantly 
appeared  in  this  ghostly  throng.     De  Pelven  savv^  her  ashy 
paleness  and  set  lips,  and  involuntarily  tried  to  take  one  of 
the  cold  hands  pressed  together  on  her  breast.     The  touch 
made  her  start  back  with  a  look  which  he  never  forgot.     He 
threw  himself  back  into  his  corner,  feeling  as  if  he  hardly 
knew  whether  he  did  not  hate  her  more  than  he  loved  her, 
but  above  all  a  fiei'ce  and  passionate  necessity  to  subdue  this 
spii-it  to  his  will.     Full  as  his  mind  was  of  matters  on  which 


APARTMENTS  IN  PARIS.  99 

hundreds  of  lives,  and  his  own  among  them,  depended,  this 
wao  foi-  the  instant  at  all  events  his  iipj^ermost  feeling.  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aig-nan  interposed  opportunely  as  she  drew  her 
head  bact  from  the  window  on  her  side,  by  asking,  '  And 
where  are  you  goin.g  to  bestow  iis,  my  cousin  1  I  have 
always  forgotten  to  ask.' 

There  was  no  time  for  much  answer,  for  the  diligence 
was  stopping  before  the  hotel  where  De  Pelven  had  an 
apartment,  a  house  near  the  Louvre,  and  on  such  a  scale  as 
showed  that  it  had  once,  and  probably  not  long  since, 
belonged  to  some  rich  family.  They  alighted,  and  De  Pelven, 
with  a  friendly  nod  to  the  concierge,  led  the  way  to  the 
second-floor,  where  breakfast  awaited  them,  in  a  room  very 
simply  furnished,  so  that  the  eye  of  the  vulgar  might  have 
looked  round  unenvyingly,  but  the  initiated  would  see  at  once 
that  the  owner  was  a  man  of  cultivated  tastes.  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan  looked  round  approvingly,  and  the 
preparations  for  their  reception  quickened  her  appreciation  of 
De  Pelven's  good  taste.  '  What !  we  are  expected  !  This  is 
veiy  hospitable,  my  cousin,  and  we  owe  you  infinite  thanks 
for  all  yom-  kind  solicitude.  It  is  then  here  that  we  are  to 
lodge  1 ' 

'  Alas  !  no,  dear  mademoiselle  ;  would  that  I  dared  place 
tliis  apartment  at  your  disposal !  I  had  once  indeed  hoped 
to  do  so,  for  it  is  my  own ;  but  ch-cumstances,  I  fear,  render 
it  impossible.' 

He  looked  at  Edmee,  who  stood  mute,  but  with  refusal 
wi-itten  in  every  line  of  her  face.  The  eyes  of  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  followed  his,  and  she  asked  hastily,  '  What  has 
la  petite  to  do  with  if?     Why  should  you  object,  child  ] ' 

'  I  think  we  had  far  better  have  our  own  apartment,  and 
not  trespass  on  monsieur's  politeness,'  said  Edmee  with  cold 
decision ;  and  Mademoiselle  dc  St.  Aignan  perceived  at  last 
that  there  was  some  mystery  which  she  had  not  penetrated, 
aiid  immediately  leaped  to  a  v/rong  conclusion,  which  dis- 
tui'bed  her  very  much.  De  Pelven  had  not  anticijiated  such 
0])en  defiance,  and  it  did  not  at  all  enter  into  his  plans. 
*  That  is  quite  too  unkind  a  way  of  putting  it ! '  he  cried 
jestingly ;  '  see  this  little  aristocrat,  my  cousin,  who  will  not 
allow   me  to  render  her  a  trilling  service   because   of  my 


100  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

unfortunate  opinions  !  It  is  well  that  you  are  less  pi-e- 
judiced  !  Now  I  leave  you  for  a  slioit  time  .  .  .  You  will 
allow  me  to  breakfast  with  you  % ' 

'  Allois  done  !  in  your  own  house  !  Pay  no  attention  to 
this  silly  gii-l,  my  cousin,  but  return  soon,  for  I  am  pro- 
digiously hungry.' 

De  Pelven  bowed,  and  went  into  a  further  room,  whoi-e 
letters  and  papers  awaited  him.  He  closed  the  door,  and 
rapidly  studied  them,  gathering  in  the  contents  with  rapt 
and  concentrated  attention,  and  for  the  time  Edmee  was 
banished  from  his  mind. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
await  his  return  beyond  a  very  short  time  ;  but,  having  got 
half-way  through  her  meal,  she  suddenly  said,  '  You  are  not 
eating,  p-'tite  ! ' 

'  Pardon,  mademoiselle.' 

'  Why  do  you  always  call  me  mademoiselle,  child  1  Ma 
tante  would  be  more  appropriate,  it  seems  to  me.' 

*  I  did  not  know  that  you  ...  I  never  thought  of  it,' 
stammered  Edmee. 

'  Well  now  you  know  I  do  Nvish  it.  And  since  M.  de 
Pelven  has  generously  taken  charge  of  iis,  I  think  he  ought 
to  be  told  how  it  stands  with  you  and  my  nephew.' 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  suspicions  had  gone  quite 
astray ;  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  it  could  be  De  Pelven 
whose  heart  was  in  danger. 

*  He  knows,'  was  Edmee's  low  answer. 

*  How  !  he  knows  ?     And  who  informed  him  1 ' 

'  I  did.  He  was  speaking  to  me  one  day,  and  I  thought 
it  was  right  to  tell  liim.' 

'  Hum  ! '  said  JNlademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  in  a  tone 
where  displeasure  and  reKef  mingled  almost  equally.  '  You 
take  on  yourself  to  act  very  independently,  petite,  and  I 
think  that  I  might  have  been  consulted,  or  at  least  informed 
.  .  .  However,  it  is  all  very  well,  I  daresay  ;  but  recollect 
that  my  nephew  left  you  in  my  keeping.  No  emancipating 
of  yoiu-self,  if  you  please,  until  he  retui-ns.' 

'  "VNTien  he  retui-ns,  I  will  set  him  free ;  until  then  I  shall 
always  remembei-  that  I  am  his  wife,  deai*  mademoiselle,' 


APARTMENTS  IN  PARIS.  101 

said  Edmee,  kneeling  down,  and  kissing  the  hands  of  Alain's 
aunt. 

'  There,  that  will  do,  yon  silly  child  ;  eat  yonr  brealdast, 
and  do  not  look  so  like  a  ghost ;  the  long  journey,  which 
indeed  I  thought  would  nevei-  end,  has  exhausted  you.  I 
am  not  so  sure  that  my  nephew  will  wish  to  be  set  fi-ee,'  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aiguan,  kissing  her  forehead,  and  then 
holding  her  back  to  look  at  her.  '  No,  not  at  all  siu-e  !  Some- 
hov/  one  grows  very  fond  of  you,  child.' 

The  words  gave  Edmee  such  pleasui-e  that  even  De 
Pelven's  return  did  not  banish  the  bi'ightness  from  her  face ; 
she  felt  as  if  she  might  after  all  baffle  him,  and  um'easouable 
as  it  was  to  hope  to  foil  him  simply  because  she  felt  happier, 
the  secret  thought  lent  her  an  arch  and  provoking  charm. 
Poor  child  !  every  admiiing  look  which  he  gave  her  in  spite 
of  himself  but  increased  the  danger  of  her  position.  He 
iindertook  to  find  a  lodging  for  them  before  night,  and  was 
absent  on  his  own  affairs  and  theirs  the  greater  part  of  the 
day.  When  he  returned  he  seemed  harassed  and  anxious 
'  My  cousin,'  he  said,  '  you  see  me  ashamed,  disti'essed  ;  my 
best  endeavours  have  only  found  a  place  which  is  utterly 
unfit  for  you.  Unfortunately  there  is  so  much  to  be  con- 
sidered for  your  safety.  I  could  only  ventiu-e  to  place  you 
\vith  known  patriots,  whom  I  can  trust,  and  their  house  is 
not  one  where  you  would  be  comfortable.  If  I  dai-ed  say 
that  you  would  be  safer  here  !  but  unhappily  it  is  a  rendezvous 
for  my  friends.  If  I  went  elsewhere,  attention  would  .be 
attracted,  questions  asked.' 

'  All  we  want  is  a  safe  refuge,  my  dear  De  Pelven.  Do 
not  afllict  yoiu-self  as  to  any  small  discomforts  or  pi-ivations  ; 
what  can  they  be  to  what  thousands  of  our  countrymen  are 
suffering  !     You  have  at  least  found  us  a  couple  of  I'ooms  1 ' 

'  Yes,  but  I  have  not  the  courage  to  propose  your  seeing 
them.' 

'  Ah,  bah  !  let  us  go  there  at  once.  I  hope,  however, 
that  there  is  a  busy  street  to  look  out  on.  I  have  vastly 
enjoyed  watching  all  that  has  passed  under  these  windows 
to-day.  Good  heavens !  what  wondeiful  costumes !  I  do 
not  speak  of  the  carmagnoles  and  the  red  caps  and  all  that ; 


103  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

those  I  expected,  but  I  saw  with  these  eyes  people  dressed  in 
classic  corstume.  There  were  two  young  men  vralking  along 
with  their  arms'  round  each  other's  necks,  and  those  young 
men  wore  blue  mantles,  white  tunics,  and  sandals  ! ' 

'Ah,  pi-ecisely — scholars  of  Louis  David's,  our  great 
anthoiity  on  classic  matters,  as  doubtless  you  know,  who 
organises  our  public  ceremonies,  and  teaches  ns  what  trne  ai't 
is,'  said  De  Pelven,  with  one  of  his  dubious  smiles.  The 
name  of  DaA^id  reminded  Edmee  of  the  young  Swiss,  her 
companion  for  a  few  hours  of  that  memorable  night  which 
seemed  so  long  ago  that  she  had  some'  difficulty  in  recalling 
his  name.  She  wondered  if  he  could  be  now  here,  and  how 
he  would  look  in  classic  costume,  but  had  to  renounce  the 
idea  of  him  in  mantle  and  tunic  and  sandals.  How  that 
night  seemed  to  come  back  upon  her !  Meanwhile  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  had  got  i-eady  to  go,  and  De  Pelven 
was  assuring  her  that  if  she  absolutely  insisted  on  hii-ing  the 
rooms,  her  boxes  should  be  sent  there  immediately.  Edmee 
was  already  prejudiced  against  the  lodging  because  he  had 
found  it,  and  the  first  sight  of  the  landlady,  in  the  extreme 
of  Republican  fashion,  with  a  hard  vigilant  face,  increased 
her  uneasiness.  She  thought  her  insolent  and  inquisitive, 
though  evidently  controlled  by  De  Pelven,  and  vcij  anxious 
to  please  him,  and  Edmee  trembled  at  the  prospect  of  being 
under  her  sui'veUlance.  The  rooms  offered  them  on  the  third- 
floor  justified  De  Pelven's  excuses.  The  walls  were  spotted 
and  stained  ;  an  armchair,  a  heavy  table,  covered  with  black 
leather,  a  gi-eat  bed,  with  dark  curtains,  and  an  old  carved 
cupboard,  with  dust  wherever  it  could  lie,  composed  the  chief 
furnitiire  of  the  room  ;  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  stood 
in  evident  dismay,  while  Edmee  alternately  observed  the  de- 
precating face  of  De  Pelven,  and  the  threatening  and  auda- 
cious ail"  of  the  citoyenno  Lafai-ge,  their  future  landlady,  or 
rather  gaoler,  as  Edmee  thought  to  herself. 

'"Well,  covisin,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  at  last, 
cheerfully,  '  we  can  make  it  do,  no  doubt ;  we  can  add  what 
we  want,  and  it  might  be  worse.  I  know  you  have  done  the 
best  you  can  for  us,  so  let  us  have  our  baggage,  and  make 
oui'selves  at  home.     To-morrow  you  will  come  and  see  us. 


IN  HIDIFQ.  103 

Adieu.  You  have,  no  doxibt,  a  thousand  things  to  do,  and 
so  have  we.'  She  nodded  gaily  to  him,  and  then  began  to 
poiat  out  to  Edmee  what  they  must  buy,  paying  no  attention 
to  her  attempts  to  make  her  conciliate  the  landlady,  who  stood 
by  with  looks  auguring  no  good,  and  presently,  fiuding  herself 
ignored,  went  away,  slamming  the  door  and  muttering,  'Pigs 
of  aristocrats  ! '  very  audibly. 

'  Ah,  mademoiselle  ! '  began  Edm^e  in  consternation ;  but 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  interrupted  with  a  laxigh,  '  Yes, 
yes,  child,  it  was  uupardonably  imprudent ;  scold  me  if  you 
will,  I  deserve  it,  but  what  would  you  have  1  The  woman  is 
hateful  to  me ;  did  you  observe  her  countenance  %  hateful,  I 
tell  you ;  she  affects  my  nerves,  and  it  is  too  strong  for  me, 
allez  !  I  could  not  force  myself  to  be  civil  to  her.' 

*  We  have  begun  by  making  her  our  enemy,'  said  Edm6e, 
under  her  breath  ;  '  and  the  one  fiiend  whom  we  have  here  is 
perhaps  more  dangerous  still ! ' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IX  HIDING. 


It  woiild  be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more  forlorn  than 
Edm^e's  position  when  she  found  herself  in  the  unknown 
woi-ld  of  Pai-is,  aware  that  it  teemed  with  perils,  but  quite 
uncertain  what  it  was  safe  to  do  ;  conscious  that  a  rash  ges- 
ture, a  careless  word,  would  bring  heiself  and  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  into  imminent  danger,  fearing  to  stir  out  lest 
some  horrible  sight  should  meet  her  eyes,  fearing  to  enter  a 
shop  lest  some  unpopular  form  of  speech  should  attract  atten- 
tion, and  fearing  above  all  the  woman  in  whose  house  they 
were,  who  watched  her  so  keenly  and  malignantly  whenever 
they  met,  and  always  had  some  private  words  with  De 
Pelven  when  he  came.  Edmee  wondered  what  was  the  link 
between  them  ;  she  did  not  know  how  much  of  his  secret  and 


104  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

unseen  power,  his  knowledge  of  all  that  went  on,  and  his 
skill  in  avoiding  dangers,  De  Pelven  OAved  to  the  glamour 
which  he  could  cast  over  women  of  all  ranks.     Women  had 
always  been  his  best  allies,  his  most  iisefiJ  tools,  all  the 
more  that  not  one  had  ever  really  touched  his  heart  until  he 
met  Edmee.     He  was  inevitably  the  protector  to  whom  she 
now  looked,  in   spite  of  herself;  she  coiild  not  but  lelax 
into  something  like  fiiendship  as  eveiy  day  she  felt  how  en- 
tii-ely  helpless  and  hewildf^ied  she  would  have  been  but  fox* 
him.     It  was  he  who  could  tell  hei'  what  was  safest  to  do, 
and  what  must  be  avoided ;  it  was  he  wLo  lessened  her  sense 
of  ]'esponsibility  with  regard  to  the  entertair'ment  of  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  who  could  never  venture  out,  as  their 
one  hope  of  escape  lay  in  avoiding  notice,  and  had  almost  no 
variety  in  the  day  but  the  hour  which  he  constantly  spent 
with    her,    always    leaving  her   amused    and    cheerful,    and 
Edmee's  wary  suspicion  diminished  as  she  saw  the  time  go  by 
without  his  alluding  to  his  feelings  for  her.     But  each  day 
just  then  seemed  more  laden  with  danger  than  the  one  which 
had   preceded  it;  universal  depression  and  terror  had  per- 
vaded all  ranks  since  the  terrible  law  against  the  suspected 
had  passed,  which  declared  anyone  liable  to  arrest  who  had 
^mijre  relations,  were  of  noble  birth,  had  done  notliing  for  the 
cause  of  liberty,  were  too  much  taken  up  by  pi-ivate  aftaiis 
to  be  duly  interested  in  public  ones,   or  spread  bad  news  ! 
There  were  already  3,000  prisoners  in  Paris  alone,  and  the 
numbers  rose  by  hundreds  daily,  most  of  them  innocent  of 
any  crime  but  that  of  gentle  birth  or  fortune,  and  the  country 
swarmed  with  revolutionary  committees,  who  held  in  their 
hands  the  life  of  eveiyone  in  France.      The  very  children 
learned  to  watch  their  looks  and  words,  and  the  danger  was 
so  tremendous  that  while  numbers  cowered  helplessly,  quite 
as  many  rushed  into  the  wildest  licence,  desperate  and  reck- 
less.    To  be  forgotten  was  the  best  hope  of  those  who  had 
any  hope  at  all.     Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  had  expected 
to  find  some  old  friends  at  Paris,  but  she  soon  found  that 
social  intercourse  was  dead,  and  that  the  tempest  had  scat- 
tered even  those  most  closely  connected.     Even  life  at  Morte- 
mart  was  livelier  than  that  in  her  room  in  Paiis.     Edmee 


iiV  HIDING.  105 

marvelled  at  the  cheerfulness  wath  which  she  accepted  her 
position,  gathering  amusement  from  every  trivial  circum- 
stance, and  in  some  incomprehensible  way  learning  the 
histoiy  of  everyone  in  the  house.  She  soon  contrived  to 
make  friends  with  the  little  old  father-in-law  of  the  landlady, 
a  small  grey  man,  who  held  Iris  formidable  daughter-in-law 
in  gi'eat  fear  and  awe,  and  dared  not  lift  a  finger  without  her 
leave  when  she  was  within  sight,  but  would  climb  up  on 
some  pretext  or  other  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  room 
when  he  could  do  so  undetected,  and  find  consolation  in  whis- 
pering his  secret  feelings  towards  hhJiUdfre,  as  he  called  her, 
to  his  amused  auditor.  The  cai'eful  toilette  which  he  always 
made  before  a])pearing  before  her  highly  amused  her,  all  the 
more  that  though  he  could  never  resist  coming,  he  was 
evidently  on  thorns  lest  he  should  be  found  out.  and  would 
liee  in  haste,  and  dolf  cravat  and  coat  with  trembling  hands 
at  the  least  suspicion  that  the  citoyenne  Lafarge  was  coming 
home  fi'om  her  marketing,  her  visits  to  the  Convention,  or 
from  the  executions,  now  amounting  to  sixty  or  seventy  a 
day.  '  It  was  always  the  way  with  he-r,'  old  Lafarge  would 
say  in  his  quavering  voice,  *  even  when  my  son  was  alive, 
though  he  would  try  to  keep  her  away,  even  locking  her  up 
when  there  was  anyone  hanged,  and — (he  had  such  coin-age, 
iny  poor  son  !)  thi-eat^ning  to  beat  her,  she  always  found 
means  to  be  present !  We  all  have  our  tastes,  and  that  is 
hers — -what  would  you  have  1  some  are  born  so.  For  mc,  I 
shudder  to  think  of  such  things.  I  went  once,  because  she 
said  I  must,  and  there  is  no  gainsaving  what  she  chooses,  but 
I  was  so  ill  afterwards  that  I  had  to  take  Jleur  (Vorawje  to 
trancpiillise  myself,  and  go  to  bed,  for  I  am  tender-hearted, 
you  sec,  very  tender-hearted.  It  is  a  great  misfoi'tune  to  bo 
so  tender-hearted  as  I  am  ! ' 

Nevertheless  the  old  man  contrived  to  know  all  that  was 
going  on,  and  his  talk  often  left  Mademoiselle  do  St.  Aignaa 
sad  and  anxious  enough,  though  her  natural  good  spirits  and 
the  wish  to  cheer  Edmee  kept  t5ie  fears  which  darkened  daily 
in  the  background.  The  year  was  closing  in  over-increasing ' 
gloom.  October  had  seen  the  execution  of  the  Queen,  at  tlio 
voiy  hour  the  tombs  of  St.  Denis  were  broken  open  by  tlie 


106  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

mob,  and  'November  had  begun  by  a  public  renunciation  of 
Ckristianity,  in  the  name  of  the  nation.  Provisions  became 
scarcer  and  scarcer,  and  even  the  out-of-the-way  sti-eet  in 
which  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  lodged  was  sometimes 
filled  by  a  furious  mob  rushing  by  to  break  open  some  baker's 
shop.  At  first  the  citoyenne  Lafarge  had  provided  a  few 
loaves  from  time  to  time  for  her  two  lodgers,  but  with  so  ill 
a  grace  that  Edmee,  as  soon  as  she  discovered  how  to  dis- 
pense with  her  reluctant  assistance,  took  the  matter  into  her 
own  hands,  and  would  go  out  and  stand  in  the  crowd  which 
would  stand  for  hours  waiting  to  bo  served  about  the  shops, 
sometimes  only  to  be  dispersed  by  an  incursion  of  the  popu- 
lace, less  patient,  perhnjis  less  hungry  than  the  pale  women 
who  had  waited  since  dawn  in  vain.  She  was  beginning  to 
wonder  how  long  their  slender  means  would  hold  out ;  their 
lodgings  were  extravagantly  dear,  as  were  })rovisions,  and 
where  was  more  money  to  come  from  1  She  saw  with 
dread  the  possibility  of  being  driven  to  apply  to  De  Pelven, 
and  set  herself  to  avoid  this  necessity  with  all  her  might, 
spent  five  francs  on  materials  for  lace-making,  for  even  now 
the  love  of  lace  was  not  extinct,  though  the  coarsest  and 
commonest  dress  was  supposed  to  be  worn  by  all,  and  she 
hoped  to  dispose  of  her  work  to  some  shop,  if  not  immediately, 
a  little  later.  A  few  more  francs  went  for  painting  materials, 
but  this  was  rather  to  please  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
than  with  much  hope  of  gaining  money,  and  Edmee  rather 
gi-udged  the  extravagance  until  the  delight  of  handling  a 
brush  and  colours  banished  all  regrets.  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  watched  her  at  work  with  pleasiire,  siu'pnsed  by  her 
absorption  in  her  occupation,  and  would  stand  by  her,  mak- 
ing siiggestions  with  all  the  audacity  of  ignorance. 

'  But  do  you  know,  she  has  talent,  great  talent,'  she  said, 
on  one  occasion,  when  Edmee  was  not  present,  as  she  showed 
a  half-finished  painting  to  De  Pelven,  who  was  accustomed 
to  bring  such  flowers  as  the  late  season  afibrded,  well  pleased 
that  Edmee  should  accept  them,  even  if  with  hesitating  re- 
luctance. '  It  is  surprising.  But  to  be  sure  she  has  had 
great  advantages  in  being  so  much  with  my  dear  sister-in-law 
as  she  was.' 


LN-  HIDING.  107 

'  You  think  that  talent,  like  immorality,  can  loe  commu- 
nicated from  the  upper  ranks  to  the  lower  % '  asked  De  Pelven, 
wliile  he  looked  with  far  more  critical  appreciation  than 
INIademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was  capable  of  at  the  beautiful 
little  group  of  Howers  which  Edm^e  had  been  engaged  on. 

'  Not  quite  that ;  I  am  a  liberal,  you  know,'  answeied 
INIademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  in  perfect  good  faith,  '  but  still 
one  does  not  expect  to  find  distinguished  gifts  among  the 
people.  But  there  is  no  accounting  for  these  things.  As 
for  this  child,  she  is  an  aristocrat,  born  by  mistake  among 
the  lower  ranks.  But  for  that  no  pains  could  have  made  her 
what  she  is  ;  one  cannot  deny  that  when  a  person  is  not  nee, 
the  difference  shows  in  every  look  and  action  and  mode  of 
feeling  to  life's  end.' 

'  it  is  of  coui-se  as  a  liberal  that  you  speak,  my  cousin  ] ' 

'  Assuredly ;  because  one  is  a  liberal  one  need  not  fiy  in 
the  face  of  facts  and  common-sense.  I  mean  to  continue  her 
education,  though  I  daresay  it  is  illegal,  since  the  Convention 
lias  closed  all  places  of  public  instruction  !  You  must  pro- 
cure something  for  her  to  read  with  profit ;  I  could  bring  but 
two  or  three  volumes  with  me,  and  I  do  not  care  that  she 
should  study  them  ;  they  aie  all  very  well  for  you  and  me, 
though  even  I,  in  these  times,  feel  as  if  I  should  like  some- 
thing wliich  suggested'  there  might  be  a  better  world  than 
this  elsewhere.' 

'  You  would  probably  be  quite  contented  with  this,  my 
cousin,  if  you  could  arrange  it  after  your  own  fancy.' 

'  That  is  what  your  friends  are  seeking  to  do,  Hebert,  St. 
Just,  Collet  d'Herbois,  Robespierre  and  the  rest,  only  they 
want  to  lay  the  foundations  on  heaps  of  heads.  Good 
heavens  !  what  tyranny  ever  equalled  this  mob  rule  1 ' 

'Hush,  dear  cousin!  you  forget  that  we  are  all  good 
patiiots  now,  perforce.' 

'Yes — perforce.  De  Pelven,  you  are  a  man  of  good 
bii'th — a  very  clever  man  .  .  .  between  ourselves,  what  do 
you  think  of  it  all  ? ' 

'  Tliink  of  it  all ! '  he  answered  slowly,  unconsciously 
lowering  liis  voice.  '  I  think  that  we  are  living  in  times 
teeming  with  events  whose  outcome  the  best  politician  liviiig 


108  NOBLESSE  OBLIOE. 

cannot  calculate ;  tlie  consequences  of  this  Kevolution  will 
be  felt,  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  as  long  as  the  world 
lasts.' 

'  It  is  coming  to  an  end,  I  think  !  what  a  change  since  '90  ! 
The  political  horizon  seemed  almost  cloudless  then,  do  you 
remember  %  Nobody  seemed  much  excited  ;  gold  began  to 
get  rather  scarce,  I  recollect ;  but  we  had  not  the  worry  of 
these  miserable  assignats,  and  we  were  full  of  ho]>es.  And 
now  !  who  would  have  believed  that  a  man  would  dare  to 
stand  up  before  his  fellow-countrymen  in  our  public  assembly, 
and  declare  himself  an  atheist  amid  general  applause  ;  or, 
again,  that  the  vessel  of  the  Revolution  must  come  into  port 
on  waves  of  blood  % ' 

'  Who  would  believe  it  1  Anyone  who  knew  what  it  was 
to  set  a  nation  of  slaves  suddenly  free.' 

'  Well,  well,  these  matters  are  safer  left  alone ;  we  will  be 
content  to  agi-e©  on  this  one  point,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  laughing,  and  glad  to  take  a  lighter  tone,  '  that 
everyone  in  this  Paris  of  ours  is  ciazy,  except  myself  and 
two  or  three  more,  who  think  as  I  do.  Here  comes  the  child 
.  .  .  she  looks  pale,  does  she  not?  Yet  I  think  when  my 
nephew  comes  home  he  will  say  she  is  greatly  embellished.' 

This  was  the  first  hint  which  she  had  given  of  the 
relations  between  Alain  and  Edmee.  Do  Pelven  could  not 
cell  whether  Edmee  heard  or  not ;  but  she  turned  back  into 
the  little  kitchen  adjoining  the  room  sei-ving  as  bedchamber 
and  salon,  and  he  said  hastily,  '  Is  it  possible  that  you  en- 
courage that  wild  idea  1 — you  cannot  think  her  bound  by  that 
a])Siu-d  moc]\-marriage  ?  it  is  monstrous  ! ' 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  stared  at  him.  '  It  could 
not  be  my  wish  that  the  heii-  of  our  family  should  marry  the 
steward's  daughter ;  I  feel  that  as  keenly  as  yourself,  my 
cousin,  but  the  thing  is  done,  and  I  have  learned  to  love  the 
child.     Hush  .  .  .  she  is  coming.' 

Edmee  looked  white  and  weary,  and  when  questioned 
confessed  to  being  tu-ed  and  sleepy. 

*  You  have  been  on  foot  all  the  afternoon,  starching  my 
caps  and  ruffs,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  half- 
tenderly,  haLf-reproachfully,  'and  now  you  have  prepared 


IN  HIDING.  109 

supper  .  .  .  what  should  I  do  without  this  little  girl, 
cousin  ]   And  I  believe  she  went  out  early,  to  procure  bread  ] ' 

'  You  should  not  do  that ! '  said  De  Pelven,  quickly.  'At 
what  hour  did  you  go  ? ' 

'  One  must  try  to  be  among  the  first,'  answered  Edmee 
evasively ;  '  there  was  a  great  crowd,  and  many  who  came 
late  got  none.' 

She  did  not  like  to  own  that  she  had  stood  in  the  throng 
from  four  in  the  moi-ning  till  eleven  before  obtaining  her  loaf 
of  coarse  bread. 

'  I  thought  that  citoyenne  Lafarge  undertook  to  procure 
provisions  for  you,'  said  De  Pelven. 

'  She  did  ;  but  I  prefer  doing  it  for  myself  monsieur.' 

*  Is  she  unaccommodating,  then  1 ' 

*  Weil  .  .  .  not  too  amiable,'  answered  Edmee,  smiling. 
De  Pelven  knit  his  brows.      He  perceived  a  complication 

of  which  Edmee  was  unconscdous.  The  instincts  of  a  jealous 
woman  had  revealed  more  than  he  desired  to  Madame 
Lafarge,  and  it  would  need  all  his  skill  to  steer  through  these 
troubled  waters.  It  was  with  an  efibrt  that  he  roused  him- 
self to  talk  as  usual ;  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  perceived 
it,  and  said,  as  he  rose  to  go,  '  My  cousin,  I  cannot  thank  you 
enough  for  your  kindness  to  us  when  no  doubt  your  time  and 
thoughts  ai-e  overfull,  for  even  you,  I  fear,  are  not  safe  in 
these  frightful  days.' 

*  Safe  !  scarc3ly,  dear  mademoiselle ;  is  anyone  safe,  high 
or  low,  now  ? ' 

'  And  perhaps  the  attempt  to  protect  us  endangers  you 
Btill  more  1 ' 

He  smiled  and  answered,  '  If  so,  I  shall  expect  full  pay- 
ment some  day  soon,  dear  mademoiselle,'  and,  as  he  bowed  to 
Edmee,  he  added,  '  Do  not  forget  that ;  I  know  you  keep  the 
puis9.' 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  thought  that  he  merely 
wished  to  put  aside  her  gratitude  by  a  playful  reply.  Edmee 
knew  better,  and  quailed.  Instead  of  returning  to  hor 
d.  awing  when  he  was  gone,  or  taking  up  her  lace-pillow,  she 
came  and  sat  by  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  knee,  rested 
her  head  against  it,  and  diew  her  friend's  hand  round  her 


110  KOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

neck.      ]\raclemoiselle  de  St.  Aicrnan  heard   her   si^h,   and 
asked,  '  What  are  joxx  thinking  of,  j^dite  ?' 

'  I  scarcely  know,  mademoiselle ;  of  you,  I  believe — ho"w 
hard  all  this  must  be  for  you,  used  to  such  a  different  life  ! ' 

'  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
looking  round  the  room.  *  It  is  not  only  the  living  with  a 
sword  hanging  over  one's  head,  but  the  ennui,  the  uncertainty 
as  to  the  fate  of  all  one's  friends  and  relations,  or  certainty 
worse  stUl.     Yet  mine  was  not  a  very  happy  life.' 

'  Was  it  not,  dear  mademoiselle  '? ' 

'  Ah,  you  wonder  at  that,  p?tite  !  You  see,  we  were  too 
numerous  in  family,  and  though  one  daughter  went  into  a 
convent,  and  another  became  a  canoness,  and  so  on,  all  that 
lessened  the  family  resources  ;  we  were  too  well  off  to  go  into 
the  order  of  La  jNIisericorde,  where  noble  girls  are  receiveil 
without  a  dowry,  else  that  would  have  been  our  natural 
destination.  As  for  me,  I  had  another  fate ;  but  that  does 
not  matter.' 

She  paused,  and  her  handsome  face  grew  grave.  Edmee 
kissed  her  hand,  and  said  softly,  '  Only  I  do  so  like  to  hear  ! ' 

'  Ah,  there  is  not  much  to  tell,  child  ;  after  all,  perhaps 
it  was  rather  that  I  disHked  becoming  a  nun  than  that  I 
loved  my  betrothed  so  w^ll — I  don't  know.  Anyhow,  I  did 
not  consent,  though  it  was  a  hard  battle,  and  I  should  hardly 
have  had  my  way  but  for  your  godmother.  That  long 
waiting  for  one  who  never  came,  who  never  came  back,  was 
weary  work  ;  but  her  death  was  my  sharpest  sorrow.  Still 
so  young,  so  charming  ;  she  left  my  heart  very  emjity.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Edmee,  with  full  acquiescence  ;  *  but  she  has 
escaped  all  that  has  come  since, 

'  That  is  true  ;  but  death  is  terrible,  child  ! ' 

'  Do  you  think  so,  mademoiselle  !  Oh,  it  seems  to  me  so 
much  better  to  die  than  to  Uve,'  said  Edmee,  colouring  as 
she  saw  the  astonishment  on  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's 
face.  '  To  escape  from  all  the  sorrow  and  pain,  and  having 
let  those  we  love  best  go  from  our  arms  however  fast  we  hold 
them  .  .  .  and  to  stand  in  the  light  of  Paradise,  and  know 
that  we  shall  never  leave  it,  and  see  our  dear  Lord  face  to 
face ! ' 


IN  HIDING.  Ill 

There  was  such  suppressed  and  eager  enthusiasm  in  her 
look  and  tone  that  the  oMer  woman  looked  at  her  in  silent 
amazement.  Edmee  was  evidently  speaking  out  of  the  depths 
of  her  heart.  Evening  had  long  closed  in,  and  all  was  hushed 
in  the  street  below  ;  a  single  candle  dimly  lighted  the  room 
where  they  sat.  In  the  silence  which  followed  Edmee's 
words  the  tramp  of  approaching  feet  was  heard  without ;  the 
two  turned  pale  and  looked  at  each  other.  The  steps  paused, 
and  their  hearts  stood  still  too;  they  expected  in  another 
moment  to  hear  the  imperative  knock,  and  the  dreaded 
summons,  '  Open  in  the  name  of  the  law  ! '  which  preceded  a 
domiciliary  visit  from  the  police.  They  heard  Madame 
Lafarge  open  the  house  door  and  speak  ;  but  the  visit  was 
not  to  them.  After  a  short  pause  the  tramp  was  again  heard, 
receding  down  the  street,  as  the  party  went  off  with  a 
prisoner. 

'Not  such  death  as  that !'  mm-mm^ed  Edmee,  with  pale 
lips,  shrinking  up  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 

'  Ah,  child,  what  a  difference  the  manner  of  it  makes ! 
but  to  me  death  would  always  be  terrible,  and  life  sweet. 
You  do  not  understand  that,  but  it  is  so.  Yes,  if  I  lived  as 
long  as  my  poor  old  uncle,  who  lost  his  memory  and  always 
called  us  children  by  the  names  of  brothers  and  sisters  of  his, 
dead  and  gone  fifty  years  before  !  Poor  old  man,  I  am  glad 
that  my  nephew  is  not  destiaed  to  lead  the  same  sort  of  life 
as  his,  as  he  woiUd  have  been  but  for  the  Revolution,  and 
you,  little  one  ! ' 

Edmee  averted  the  personal  allusion  by  askins:  what  sort 
of  life.  J'  o 

'  Like  that  of  all  younger  brothers  of  noble  birth.  Mar- 
riage was  out  of  the  question  for  them  ;  they  became  eccle- 
siastics, entered  the  army,  went  into  a.  monastery.  Those 
who  I'emaiued  in  the  world  came  home  occasionally,  and  by- 
and-by  had  a  little  pension  from  the  long,  and  their  slender 
portion  of  the  family  fortune,  and  lived  in  some  coiner  of  the 
eldest  brother's  house.  My  uncle  had  a  room  on  the  third- 
lloor,  good  enough  for  jMousieur  le  Chevalier,  you  know,  and 
as  long  as  his  stiength  allowed  it,  he  went  ovit  shooting  with 
the  cure,  played  at  cards  and  backgammon  of  an  evening, 


112  I^'OBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

and  -was  very  kind  to  us  little  ones.  .  .  .  "We  were  fond  of  tlie 
old  man  ;  bnt  nobody  wanted  or  missed  him,  and  I  am  soriy 
now  when  I  thiak  how  dreary  his  last  years  must  have  been, 
after  he  got  half-blind,  and  too  feeble  to  crawl  downstairs.  I 
recollect  how,  if  we  evei-  went  up  to  his  room,  we  used  to  see 
him  sittiag  in  a  gieat  black  leather  armchau',  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  dozing,  or  looking  vaguely  out  of  the  window ,  as 
useless  as  the  old  sword  which  he  had  hung  up  on  his  bare 
walls.' 

Edmee  could  not  but  own  to  herself  that  Alaia  might 
find  life  happier  with  her  than  following  in  the  steps  of  his 
great  uncle.  She  listened  to  all  which  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  volunteered  to  tell  about  him  with  shy  pleasure, 
though  she  could  not  bring  hei-self  to  ask  anything.  In  these 
dai-k  days  she  found  herself  often  contrasting  his  conduct 
towards  her  with  that  of  De  Pclven,  and  on  this  evening  her 
suspicions  had  sprung  up  with  renewed  strength;  she  saw 
that  the  truce  between  them  had  been  but  a  feint  before  a 
harder  battle  than  any  they  had  yet  fought. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A     GAMS     OF     CHESS. 


Christmas  came  and  went,  and  the  Kew  Year  began,  the 
saddest  Christmas  and  Now  Yeai-  which  France  had  ever 
known,    heralded   by   the    Constitutional    Bishop  of   Paris, 
Godet,  publicly  renouncing  Chiistianity  before  the  Conven- 
tion.     Want  increased  enormously ;    provisions  were  very 
scarce,  and  the  emigiation  of  the  iipper  classes  had  throAvn 
thousands  whom  they    used  to  employ  out  of  work.     The 
violent  measures  of  the  Convention,  obliging  shop-keepers  to 
sell  at  a  low  price,  while  lapng  in  their  goods  at  a  high  one, 
only  ruined   the  sellers,  and   did  not  in  the  end  help  the 
bu^^ers.     Bread-riots,  sacking  of  shops,  crowds  besieging  the 


A  GAME  OF  CHESS.  113 

Convention  and  clamouring  for  food  and  the  lives  of  aristo- 
crats became  part  of  daily  routine,  and  were  too  much  a 
matter  of  course  to  startle  anyone.  The  power  of  feeling 
acutely  seemed  worn  out  by  the  perpetual  strain,  unless 
indeed  some  sudden  news  aroused  it  for  a  time,  such  as  a 
massacre  in  the  prisons,  the  trial  and  death  of  some  veiy 
eminent  person,  or  a  victory  on  the  frontiers,  for  in  all  tha 
anarchy  and  poverty,  France  was  holduig  her  enemies 
valiantly  at  bay,  and  national  pride  and  patriotism  rejoiced 
amid  the  deep  misery  at  the  successes  of  the  armies  hastily 
raised,  and  mainly  composed  of  untrained  recruits,  but  giving 
promise  of  the  glory  which  Bonaparte,  as  yet  hardly  known, 
was  to  win  with  them.  Theroigne  Lafarge  attended  her 
club  assiduously  (women  and  children  had  their  clubs  now, 
which  backed  up  the  worst  of  the  Jacobins,  and  often  over- 
ci^owed  the  Convention  itself),  and  she  was  one  of  its 
favourite  orators.  Through  her,  intelligence  of  the  horrible 
state  of  the  prisons  and  the  intolerable  insults  to  which 
women  were  subjected  by  the  gaolers  reached  her  father-in- 
law,  who  detailed  them  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 
Sometimes  he  would  have  to  repoi't  how  the  '  Societe  Revolu- 
tionnaiie'  intended  to  support  a  motion  of  Collet  d'Herbois, 
for  blowing  up  all  the  captives  in  the  Conciergeries,  by  way 
of  getting  rid  of  them  the  sooner;  sometimes  that  a  civic 
ceremony  had  been  commanded,  at  which  all  the  members  of 
the  female  clubs,  with  those  of  '  Les  Enfants  Eovisres ' — 
children  from  twelve  to  fourteen  yeai-s  old — shoiild  appear, 
preceded  by  their  banner,   which  bore  for   its   inscription, 

*  They  have  swept  tyi-ants  away  before  them.'  ]\Iademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  listened  with  mingled  fascination  and  disgiist. 

*  What !  more  news  of  those  paid  furies  ! '  she  would  say,  and 
shrug  her  shoiilders  with  a  smile  of  contempt  and  avei-sion, 
not  unmingled  with  amusement,  if  she  were  looking  out  of 
the  window  when  the  citoyenne  Lafarge  issued  forth,  in  red 
pantaloons  and  tricolour  cockade  in  the  bonnet  rouge  which 
matched  the  nether  garments,  on  her  way  to  hold  forth  at  St. 
Eustache,  Avherc  her  club  sat,  or  to  stand  among  '  les 
insulteuses,'  who  made  it  theii'  business  to  deride  the  prisoners 
on  their  way  to  execution,  or  take  her  place  among  '  les 


114  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

tricotoiises  de  Robespierre,*  on  the  steps  of  the  gnillotine. 
Robespierre,  hoAvever,  was  not  violent  enough  for  snch  women 
as  she  ;  Chaumette  and  Hebert  were  their  idols,  and  the  vilo 
news^mper  known  as  '  Le  Pere  Duchesne,'  edited  by  tho 
latter,  their  favourite  literature.  Edmee  shuddered  at  the 
very  sound  of  her  voice,  and  never  went  out  without  tremb- 
ling lest,  like  many  other  innocent  young  girls,  she  should  be 
seized  and  beaten  by  these  wretched  women,  xmder  the  pre- 
text that  their  captive  wore  some  unpopular  colour,  or  had 
no  tricolour  cockade.  She  wondered  how  long  Madame 
Lafai-ge  would  tolerate  her,  and  if  indeed  no  other  refuge 
could  have  been  found  but  her  house.  If  she  could  have 
read  De  Pelven's  heart  she  would  have  known  that  his  secret 
hope  had  been  that  the  contrast  between  his  apartment  and 
this  dismal  lodging  would  incline  both  Edmee  and  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  to  accept  his  protection  on  his  own 
terms.  But  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  had  fully  believed 
his  assertion  that  he  could  find  notliing  better,  and  accepted 
the  situation  with  her  imperturbable  good -humour,  and 
Edmee  feared  him  almost  more  than  she  did  Theroigno 
Lafarge.  He  had  felt  his  own  head  sit  very  loosely  on  his 
shoulders  many  and  many  a  time  of  late,  yet  it  was  keen  en- 
joyment to  him  to  deal  with  the  dangers  and  difficulties 
around  him,  and  feel  that  after  all  he  was  master  of  the  situa- 
tion. Seeing  further  ahead  than  anyone  else,  unless  perhaps 
Robespierre,  he  detected  signs  which  told  that  the  flood-tide 
of  Clime  and  misery  had  almost  reached  the  highest  mark 
possible,  and  that  he  should  have  to  steer  his  vessel  in  an  ebb 
perhaps  as  furious.  Absorbed  in  the  events  rapidly  succeed- 
ing each  other,  he  had  visited  his  protegees  but  rarely  for  some 
time,  and  was  proportionably  welcomed  by  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan  when  at  last  he  appeared,  in  the  gathering  dark 
of  a  February  evening ;  he  never  came  imtil  daylight  had 
waned.  She  challenged  him  at  once  to  a  game  of  chess,  and 
bade  Edmee  indulge  in  the  unwonted  luxuiy  of  two  candles, 
one  of  which  cast  its  flickeiing  light  on  the  board,  the  other 
Edmee  drew  close  to  her  lace-jiillow.  She  had  set  out  a 
su2>per  of  bread  and  a  little  ham  on  the  table ;  eggs  and  meat 
aud  butter  had  long  been  beyond  theii"  means,  being  at  panic 


A  GAME  OF  CHESS.  115 

price,  but  the  bread  and  ham  she  had  bought  with  the  money 
brought  her  by  old  Lafarge,  who  had  somehow  disposed  of 
a  piece  of  her  lace,  and  she  did  not  ask  what  pcrcentago  he 
had  ke])t  for  liimself,  too  happy  as  she  was  to  contiibuto  to 
the  maintenance  of  the  vienage.  De  Pelven  had  ofTeicd  a 
bottle  of  wine,  and  was  now  doing  his  best  to  conquer  JNIade- 
moiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  played  a  bold  dashing  game,  and 
was  almost  his  match,  but  always  ended  by  making  some 
sudden  blunder,  and  falling  into  the  snare  of  his  long  and 
patient  combinations.  Her  interest  in  the  game  was  divided 
by  her  desire  to  discuss  public  events,  the  all-absorbing  topic 
of  those  days,  when  literature,  family  life,  and  religion  seemed 
swept  away. 

'  So  the  bloodhounds  are  at  each  others'  throats ! '  she 
said,  with  the  imprudent  openness  which  kept  Edmee  in 
const-ant  alarm.  '  It  seems  that  Danton  and  La  IMontagne 
are  at  daggers  drawn.     That  is  good  news  for  honest  people.' 

'  My  cousin,  I  fear  that  your  honest  people  would  say 
I  was  one  of  those  bloodhounds,'  said  De  Pelven,  advancing 
a  harmless-looking  pawn. 

'  Nonsense  !  you  have  a  craze  on  that  score,'  said  ]Made- 
moiselle  do  St.  Aignan,  who  was  rather  wilfully  blind  to  De 
Pelven's  political  opinionig,  while  she  rashly  fell  into  the  snare 
laid  for  her,  and  lost  a  bishop  by  ovei'looking  the  pawn,  in 
her  desire  to  prove  him  better  than  he  deserved.  '  After  all, 
you  are  a  man  of  good  birth,  and  never  can  forget  it.' 

'  No,  nor  can  others,  unfortunately,'  he  answei'cd  ruefully, 
thinldng  how  much  danger  that  fact  had  brought  him  into, 
and  how  often  it  was  cast  up  against  him. 

'  No ;  your  very  dress  betrays  it.  You  cannot  bring 
yourself  to  go  about  in  sabots  and  rags  and  a  hideous  car- 
magnole ;  you  wear  lace  ruffles  and  an  embroidered  waistcoat 
like  a  gentleman.' 

'  So  does  your  hete  noire,  Maximilien  Robespierre,  dear 
covisin.' 

'  Really  !  I  think  the  better  of  him  then.  There  is  a 
great  deal  in  clothes.  How  much  it  meant  when,  after  Paul 
et  Virginii  was  acted,  people  took  to  muslin  and  simplicity, 
and  how  vastly  the  Coui-t  lost  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar  when 


116  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

stately  toilettes  were  exchanged  for  a  bourgeois  plainness  of 
attire  !  As  for  yon,  never,  I  am  convinced,  would  you  feel 
it  i^ossible  to  come  before  ladies  vinless  dressed  as  becomes  a 
well-born  man — you  could  not,  my  dear  De  Pelven  ! ' 

'  You  are  right,  as  always,'  said  De  Pelven,  glancing  at 
Edmee,  and  acknowledging  to  himself  that,  be  the  risk  what 
it  might,  he  could  never  have  brought  himself  to  appeal"  in 
her  presence  except  in  the  garb  of  a  gentleman. 

*  I  suppose  that  the  question  is  indiscreet,'  pursued  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  '  but  I  do  very  much  wonder  how 
you  contrive  to  float  safely  in  these  times,  cousin.  One  never, 
thank  Heaven,  sees  your  name  as  an  oi-ator  among  those 
monsters  at  the  Convention  or  the  clubs ;  you  propose  no 
measures,  you  take  no  apparent  part  in  politics,  yet  you  seem 
well  acquainted  with  these  inhuman  wretches  who  have 
nothing  of  men  but  the  form  ;  you  have  influence  with  them, 
it  seems,  you,  a  man  of  noble  family,  an  aristocrat ! ' 

'  My  cousin,  your  queen  is  in  danger.  Chess,  Like  politics, 
requires  all  one's  attention.' 

'  But  what  can  a  man  like  you  have  in  common  with 
them  ? '  she  persisted.  '  You  came  to  Mortemart  to  unravel 
some  i^lot,  you  said  ...  is  that  work  for  a  gentleman  ] 
Does  it  not  involve  sjiies  and  denunciations,  and  things 
impossible  for  a  man  of  honour  ? ' 

De  Pelven  paused,  considered  his  move,  and  then 
answei'cd,  while  she  was  exclaiming  at  the  disadvantage  at 
which  she  suddenly  found  herself  placed,  '  My  dear  friend, 
you  would  not  comprehend  me  if  I  tried  to  explain  the 
exquisite  pleasure  which  there  is  in  calculating  all  the 
movements  of  an  adversary ;  of  foreseeing  what  he  will  do  ; 
the  chances  of  his  next  move  and  yours,  of  leading  him 
subtly  in  the  direction  favourable  to  your  designs  ;  of  bafiiing 
his  plans  befoi'e  he  suspects  you  of  having  divined  them.  It 
is  a  pleasure  entirely  abstract ;  you  play  for  the  interest  of  the 
game,  and  therefore  it  is  equally  great  whatever  he  may  be 
seeking  to  do.  It  is  not  for  or  against  this  or  that  course 
which  you  are  working ;  it  is  to  win  in  a  contest  of  skill,  in 
which  you  are  pitted  against  someone  who  becomes  your 
enemy  simply  because  in  that  game  he  chances  to  be  your 


A  GAME  OF  CHESS.  117 

opponent,  ^ou  have  no  pei-sonal  feeling  against  him  or  his 
cause;  you  defeat  him  because  it  is  necessary  to  youi- success.' 
'  I  do  not  understand  a  word  you  are  saying  ! '  cried 
Blademoiselle  de  St.  A  ignan ;  '  is  it  of  chess  or  politics  that 
you  are  talking  1 ' 

'  I  told  you,  dear  cousin,  that  we  should  not  understand 
each  other,'  he  answered  serenely.  '  This  game,  at  all  events, 
is  mine ;  is  it  not  1 ' 

'  But,  monsieiu','  said  Edmee,  while  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  was  holding  up  her  hands  in  dismay  at  this  un- 
expected announcement,  '  what  becomes  of  those  who  are  ill- 
advised  enough  to  foil  you  ? ' 

She  very  rarely  addi-essed  him,  and  he  was  taken  by 
sm-prise. 

'  I  think,  mademoiselle,  that  it  has  somehow  or  other  so 
rarely  happened  to  me  that  I  can  scarcely  answer  that 
question.' 

'  No,  I  suppose  that  it  very  rarely  happens,'  said  Edmee, 
as  if  to  herself.  '  Thank  you,  monsieiu-,  I  know  now  why 
you  are  indispensable  to  Jlobespien-e.' 

De  Pelven  had  been  led  away  by  a  strong  desire  to  see 
whether,  as  often  happened,  she  divined  his  secret  meaning; 
yet  he  had  not  anticipated  that  she  would  do  so ;  and  lie 
could  have  cui-sed  his  folly  in  letting  her  have  this  glimpse  of 
his  real  self.  He  set  his  teeth  hard  at  the  undisguised 
contempt  in  her  voice. 

'  If  you  look  on  me  as  a  vulgar  police-spy  you  ai-e  bound- 
lessly mistaken,'  he  said,  half-aside.  '  I  am  no  Fouche  .  .  . 
though  indeed  Fouche  ' — he  had  recovered  his  usual  calm  and 
ironical  tone — '  though  indeed  Fouche,  with  the  talents  he 
has,  is  more  likely  to  rise  high  than  any  man  I  know.  He 
will  be  even  more  indispensable  under  a  despotism  than  in 
our  present  state  of  chaos,  and  a  despotism  must  necessarily 
be  the  next  step  if  anyone  rise  uyt  who  can  master  this 
anarchy.  Ah,  my  dear  cousin,  I  must  not  allow  myself  the 
])leasure  of  another  game  with  you ;  I  must  go,  and  I  fear 
that  I  shall  not  see  you  again  for  some  time.  I  am  going 
down  to  Brittany  ;  it  seems  that  things  have  been  ihi.sIkmI  too 
far  there ;  Can-ier  has  Ix'en  making  mistakes,  and  i  am  com- 
missioned to  look  into  it,  and  send  a  report  to  I'aris.' 


118  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

If  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  could  but  liave  guessed 
what  De  Pelven  gently  designated  as  '  mistakes '  ! 

'  Ixow,  my  cousin,  you  are  leaving  Paris  !  That  is  indeed 
ill  nLHvs,  and  assuredly  we  have  had  enough  of  that  already.' 

'  1  thank  yon  for  feeling  it  ill  news.  It  is  indeed  not 
willingly  that  I  leaA'e  you.  But  have  no  fear  while  I  am 
gone  ;  here  is  a  protection  from  Robespierre  and  another  from 
Danton,  extending  over  five  weeks,  and ' 

'  A  protection  from  Robespierre  and  Danton  ! '  said  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  colouring  high.  '  Do  you  think  I  will 
consent  to  be  indebted  to  those  monsters  ?  iDo  you  take  me 
for  some  jMadame  de  St.  Amaranthe,  who  buys  her  safety  by 
fi-equenting  their  houses,  and  conductiag  her  young  daughter 
there '?    /  i-eceive  a  favour  fi'om  youi-  sans-culottes  !    I  ! ' 

*  There  are  veiy  few  people  who  would  not  kneel  to  Hebcrt 
himself  for  such  a  paper  as  this,  my  cousia.  And  recollect 
you  have  someone  besides  yourself  to  think  of.' 

'  My  aunt  speaks  for  us  both,  monsieur,'  said  Edmee. 

'  iNo,  no,'  interrupted  IMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  hastily. 
'  Heaven  forgive  me,  I  foi'got  the  child  !  I  accept,  De  Pelven, 
I  accept.  AVhat !  lefuse  anything  which  keeps  her  out  of 
those  prisons  !  Death  is  little  compared  with  the  treatment 
she  would  encounter.  Not  another  word,  Edmee ;  it  seciu-es 
you,  and  I  am  grateful.' 

Edmee  had  never  known  till  now  how  dear  she  had  be- 
come to  Alain's  aunt,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

'  I  am  an  injrate,  cousin;  is  it  not  so?'  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan  was  saying,  resuming  her  gay  tone.  '  But  you 
will  understand  and  pardon.  What,  you  have  something  to 
say  to  me  1  Speak  oiit  this  child  and  I  have  no  secrets 
from  each  other.' 

De  Pelven  could  have  told  her  if  he  would  that  she  by 
no  means  knew  all  Edmee's  secrets.  '  What  I  have  to  say 
concerns  a  friend  of  mine,'  he  answered  ;  and  Eclmee  at  once 
withdroA.  into  the  next  room.  The  conference  was  not  long, 
but  she  heard  a  shai-p  exclamation  from  Mademoiselle  do  St. 
Aignan,  and  De  Pelven's  low  persuasive  tones,  ansv/ered 
biietly  enough.  Then  he  went  away,  speaking  to  Madame 
Lafarge,  who  never  failed  to  be  hanging  about,  listeniag  at 


A  GAME  OF  CHESS.  119 

the  doois,  Edmee  believed,  when  he  was  in  the  house.  '  For 
five  weeks  ! '  she  heard  the  woman  say ;  '  and  then  ] '  but  she 
did  not  wait  to  overhear  more,  and  returned  to  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan,  who  seemed  agitated,  but  not  veiy  ready  to 
explain,  the  cause.  Presently,  however,  she  said,  '  Petite,  you 
do  not  guess  what  De  Pelven  had  to  say  1  No  ? — how  should 
you  !  It  seems  that  a  friend  of  his,  a  most  desii'able  po?'^i, 
wants  a  wife  .  .  .  You  undei'stand  ?  He  thought  of  you,  it 
appears  ...  it  was,  doubtless,  kindly  meant ;  but  I  made  it 
clear  that  you  were  Alain's  wife,  and  that  such  a  proposal 
would  be  an  insult  if  rej)eated.' 

'  Ah  !  .  .  .  And  he  looks  on  you  as  an  obstacle  ia  the  way 
of  his  plans  ? ' 

'  What  a  strange  way  of  putting  it,  child  !  One  would 
tiiink  you  mistrusted  this  good  De  Pelven,  who  has  ventui'ed 
so  much  to  protect  us  ! ' 

*  He  warned  us  he  should  ask  for  payment  ia  full  some 
day,  mademoiselle ! ' 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    BLOW    FALLS. 


*  Safe  for  five  weeks  !'  Edmee  iised  often  to  repeat  to  herself, 
thiough  the  time  which  followed  De   Pelven's   departuie. 

'But  then %' 

For  Edm6e  could  not  shake  ofi*  the  conviction  that  De 
Pelven  had  onl}^  put  forward  a  man  of  straw  in  the  'fiiond' 
of  whom  he  liad  spoken  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  and 
merely  sought  to  asceiiain  whethei-  he  should  find  in  her  an 
opponent  or  a  friend  ia  his  pi-o])Osals  for  Edmee.  Now  that 
she  had  expressed  her  view  of  the  mattei-,  no  doubt  with  licr 
iisual  frankness,  he  would  look  on  her  as  an  adversary,  to  be 
got  out  of  the  way.  Sometimes  Edmee  shrank  aftVightcd  as 
the  end  of  those  weeks  approached ;  sometimes  she  felt  an 


120  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE.  ■ 

almost  ungovernable  impatience  to  have  them  over  and  know 
the  worst.  '  If  oiir  fate  be  death,  give  light  and  let  \is  die,' 
was  often  the  iinuttared  ciy  of  her  heart.  She  had  frequently 
asked  hei-self  whether  or  not  to  tell  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  what  had  passed  between  her  and  De  Pelven,  but 
she  could  not  endm-e  to  bring  additional  harass  upon  her, 
and  deprive  her  of  a  sense  of  security  which,  if  false,  was 
nevertheless  consoling,  and  then  maiden  pride  and  modesty 
silenced  the  confession  to  Alain's  aunt  that  another  man  had 
pursued  her  with  his  love,  and  almost  won  her  heart  before 
she  knew  her  own  feelings.  Perhaps  too  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan  would  think  it  all  only  the  foolish,  unauthorised 
fancy  of  a  silly  girl,  mistaking  kindness  for  admiration.  And 
Edmee  never  could  bring  herself  to  utter  the  words  which 
often  rose  to  her  lips  when  De  Pelven  was  named  between 
them.  The  incessant  inward  conflict  told  on  her,  and  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  saw  with  concern  how  tMn  and  white 
she  grew. 

'You  stoop  too  much  over  your  painting,'  she  would  say; 
*  or  else  you  are  toiling  over  that  lace-pillow.  Come  and 
read  something  to  me ;  I  do  not  say  talk,  for  what  is  thei'e  to 
say  1  and  besides,  if  we  talk  you  continue  yovir  work.  Come 
here,  petite,  and  read  me  a  little  more  of  Pacine,  which  our 
good  De  Pelven  procured  for  us  before  he  left  us.' 

Edmee  came,  but  she  could  not  bear  the  kind,  scrutinising 
look  bent  upon  her,  and  hid  her  face  on  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan's  shoulder,  clasping  her  di'ess  fast  unperceived,  as  if 
involuntarily  trying  to  keep  her  from  being  torn  away,  but 
the  next  instant  she  loosed  it,  miu'muring  unheard,  '  What 
is  the  use  "i  what  is  the  use  %  Can  I  keep  her  if  I  hold  her 
ever  so  tight  ?    I  shall  have  to  let  her  go.' 

'  Yet  it  was  with  as  steady  a  voice  as  if  in  that  brief  spaco 
she  had  not  passed  thi'ough  a  paroxysm  of  anguish  that  she 
began  to  read  at  the  passage  which  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  had  found  for  her.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  '  Eri- 
tannicus,'  and  she  read  the  fLae  lines  spoken  by  Bumis  to 
Nero : — 

II  vous  faudra  conrir  de  crime  en  crime, 
Soutenir  vos  rigueurs  par  d'autres  cniautes, 
Et  laver  dans  le  sang  vos  bras  ensanglaEtcs : 


TEE  BLOW  FALLS.  121 

Vous  allumez  un  feu  qui  ne  pourra  s'eteindre, 
Craiut  detout  I'univers,  il  vous  faudra  tout  craindre, 
Toujours  puuir,  toujours  trembler  dans  tos  projets, 
£t  pour  vos  ennemis  compter  tous  vos  sujets. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  took  the  book  from  them, 
and  read  them  again,  saying,  '  Truly  the  poet  and  the  pro- 
phet are  one !  Is  it  not  wonderfully  applicable  to  the 
present  times  ?  What  a  j)icture  !  You  and  I  have  been 
marvellously  spared,  2Jetite  ;  I  begin  to  think  that  after  all 
we  shall  escape,  especially  as  we  may  soon  expect  our  kind 
protector  back.  Perhaps  this  very  evening  we  shall  see  him, 
and  hear  what  he  has  been  doing  in  Brittany.  This  brave 
La  Vendee — ' 

'  Hark  ! '  said  Edmee,  di'opping  the  book.  *  Ah,  made- 
moiselle ! ' 

Loud  voices  and  steps  were  on  the  stairs,  those  of  Madame 
Lafarge  among  them  ;  they  heard  the  malignant  ring  of 
satisfaction  in  her  shi'ill  tones,  and  knew  at  once  what  was 
at  hnnd. 

'  So  it  has  come  !  Ent  v,-e  have  that  pajier ;  courage, 
dear  one,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.  '  But  if  that 
should  not  avail,  and  if  happily  they  only  seek  me,  I  forbid 
you — do  you  hear  % — I  forbid  you  to  endanger  yourself.' 

There  was  no  time  for  more  ;  Madame  Lafarge  pushed 
the  door  open,  exclaiming,  '  There  you  have  them,  citizen 
municipals  ;  there  are  the  ci-devants  whom  you  seek.  Let 
my  house  be  purged  from  these  vile  aristocrats.' 

One  of  the  men  advanced  ;  the  other  was  looking  round, 
and  making  a  mental  inventory  of  the  furnitiu'e,  probably 
with  a  view  to  confiscation. 

*  You  are  Valentine  Aignan  1 ' 

*  My  name  is  Valentine  Marie  de  St.  Aignan.* 

'  There  are  no  Des  and  no  Saints  now.  You  are  accused 
of  bf^ing  a  carnivorous  aristocrat,  and  our  orders  are  to  arrest 
you.' 

'Alas,  citi-cn,  nature  and  birth  are  answerable  for  both 
those  sins  !  But  allow  me  to  say  that  wo  have  a  protection 
signed  by  Robespien-e  and  Danton.' 


123  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  That  is  a  lie  !  Maximilien  and  Danton  give  no  protections 
to  ci-devanfs' 

'  But  look,  look !  *  Eclmes  cried,  laying  the  paper  before  him. 

*  Hum  !  it  seems  so,'  said  the  man,  disappointed,  and  turn- 
ing angiily  on  Madame  Lafarge — '  why  do  you  then  denounce 
this  woman  at  the  section,  and  give  honest  people  the  trouble 
of  coming  here  for  nothing  1 ' 

'  Because  the  protection  expii-ed  yesterday,'  said  she,  with 
a  smile  of  triumph.     '  See  the  date  ! ' 

Involuntarily  all  looked  at  the  paper  outspread  on  the 
table.  It  was  true ;  the  time  over  which  it  extended  had 
elapsed.  Edmee  stood  looking  in  dumb  despair  at  IMademoi- 
selle  de  St.  Aignan,  while  the  guard  who  had  taken  the  lead- 
ing part  striick  the  joaper  with  his  outspread  hand,  and  said 
with  a  laugh,  '  You  are  shaii:)er  than  I  thought,  citoyenne 
Lafarge,  and  this  ci-devant  will  come  along  with  us.  March, 
then,  canaille  of  an  aristocrat ! ' 

'  Will  you  let  me  put  up  a  few  necessaries  ?' 

*  The  nation  provides  all  that  is  necessary  for  its  prisoners, 
and  I  wager  that  you  will  not  want  anything  long.  Come, 
I  say,  is  our  time  to  be  wasted  in  waiting  for  such  as  you "?' 

IMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  rose  up.  She  dreaded  death 
intensely",  as  she  had  once  said,  and  she  had  not  the  faith 
which  strengthened  Edmee,  for  the  breath  of  the  centuiy  had 
passed  over  her,  yet  she  met  her  fate,  as  thousands  of  others 
did,  with  unshaken  courage,  and  a  serene  brow.  Without 
looking  at  Edm^e,  lest  even  a  farewell  glance  should  call 
attention  to  her,  she  followed  her  captors  ;  Edmee  heard  her 
ask  as  she  passed  out,  '  Where  are  you  taking  me  ? '  and  the 
harsh  answer,  '  You  will  know  soon  enough.'  They  paid  no 
attention  to  Edmee,  and  Madame  Lafarge  had  been  struggling 
all  along  with  her  vehement  desire  to  point  her  out.  Some 
foi'ce  seemed  restraining  her,  ]jut  now  her  hatred  proved  too 
strong,  and  she  seized  the  arm  of  the  last  guard,  exclaiming, 
'  The  gu'l — are  you  not  going  to  take  her  too  % ' 

'  Oh,  as  for  that,  we  have  no  orders,  and  if  there  should  be 
any  mistake,  since  it  would  seem  that  these  ci-hvants  know 
Kobespierr.?,  it  may  be  as  well  to  have  left  one.  Listen,  then, 
you  ! '  to  Edmee,  who  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone,   gazing 


THE  BL 0  W  FA  LL8.  123 

lov\-ar  Is  the  door  through  which  her  friend  had  gone,  as  if 
she  had  ah'eady  seen  the  grave  close  over  her.  '  Yon  are 
under  surveillance,  you  understand.  The  citizen  Lafarge' 
(old  Lafarge  had  crept  into  the  room  with  them)  '  will  eat 
with  you,  drink  with  you,  and  live  with  you.'  And  he  fol- 
lowed the  rest. 

'  There  !  at  least  I  shall  no  longer  have  the  expense  of 
maintaining  thee,  thou  rabbits'-brains  ! '  said  Madame  La- 
farge, to  the  old  man.  '  And  as  for  thee  ! '  casting  a  look  of 
hatred  on  Edmee,  '  thy  turn  will  come  yet.' 

She  marched  out  ;  old  Lafr.rge  listened  timidly  until  the 
sound  of  her  steps  had  ceased,  then  shut  the  door,  and  sat 
down  on  a  sofa  bought  by  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 
Presently  he  got  up,  and  tried  an  arm-chair,  then  returning 
to  the  sofa,  '  It  is  difficult  to  choose  !'  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 
'  They  are  both  great  inventions.  Ah,  I  shall  be  very  com- 
fortable here  ! ' 

Edraee's  stupor  of  gi'ief  made  no  impression  on  him  ;  per- 
haps he  did  not  perceive  it. 

'  It  was  very  disagi'eeable  down  in  her  room,'  he  went  on 
talking  to  himself.  '  No  peace  from  her  tongue,  and  then  her 
friends  come  in  with  their  horrible  tales,  and  sit  and  cbink  ; 
no  one  wants  the  old  man  there  ;  this  is  much  better.  But 
I  wish  I  knew  which  was  most  comfortable.'  And  he  got 
up  and  settled  himself  again  in  the  arm-chair.  '  You 
are  young  ;  you  do  not  need  luxm-ies,'  he  added  to  Edmce. 
The  sound  of  his  voice,  though  not  the  words,  reached  her. 
*  Where  will  they  take  her  1 '  she  asked,  so  suddenly  that  he 
started,  and  said  peevishly,  '  There  is  no  need  to  startle  one 
so.  Nobody  has  any  thought  for  the  old.  Take  her  1  oh, 
the  citoyenne  Valentine  ;  how  should  I  know  t  There  arc  so 
many  prisons.' 

'  You  must  find  out.  That  woman,  your  daughter-iu-law, 
will  know.  You  mu.st  learn  it  for  me,  do  you  hear  1  and 
also  if  the  citoyen  Pclven  bo  returned.' 

Edm^3  spoke  so  imperiously  that  Lafarge  looked  quite 
cowed.  '  She  is  no  better  after  all  than  my  filldtrc  /  '  he 
muttered.  '  And  I  thought  I  should  bo  so  comfortable  hero  ! 
Well,  well,  I  daresay  I  can  learn,  if  you  really  must  know, 


124  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

but  it  is  taking  trouble  for  notbing,  since  no  one  is  allowed 
to  see  a  prisoner  ;  tbe  orders  are  stricter  tban  ever.' 

But  if  I  knew  wbere  sbe  was  I  could  send  her  some 
clothes,  some  bedding.' 

And  Edmee  hastily  began  to  make  up  a  parcel,  aware 
that  is  was  impossible  to  procure  any  comforts  whatever  in 
the  prisons,  unless  at  exorbitant  prices. 

Lafarge  looked  on,  but  when  it  was  done  observed,  *  It  is 
a  pity  that  you  took  all  that  trouble,  for  these  things  are  the 
property  of  the  nation,  and  I  am  in  charge  of  them.' 

'  How  !  we  bought  them,  and  she  could  take  nothing  ?  * 

*  It  is  vuxfortunate,  but  I  am  responsible  to  the  nation,' 
answered  the  old  man,  ch'awing  up  his  meagi-e  person  with  a 
gesture  of  proud  satisfaction  in  the  dignity  confeiTcd  upon 
him.  '  Besides,  what  would  Theroigne  say  ! '  and  he  shook 
his  head  over  this  unanswerable  argument.  Edmee  gave  in  ; 
theie  was  nothing  else  to  be  done,  and  by-and-by  he  gi-ew 
communicative,  as  he  found  himself  increasingly  comfortable 
and  at  home,  and  became  almost  affectionate.  She  heard 
nothing  of  what  he  was  saying,  and  scarcely  knew  what  she 
did  when  complying  with  his  demand  for  money  to  buy  pro- 
visions for  theu-  joint  dinner,  only  she  felt  that  he  had  gone 
out,  and  left  her  in  solitude,  and  then  she  laid  her  head  on 
her  arms,  and  tried  to  think  out  some  course  of  proceeding. 
It  was  rather  the  sense  that  she  was  no  longer  alone  than 
any  sound  or  movement  which  made  her  suddenly  look  up. 
De  Pelven  was  standing  by  her,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  and 
geniiine  compassion  in  his  countenance.  '  My  poor  child  ! 
how  you  have  suffered  !  '  he  exclaimed  as  he  saw  the  white 
and  faded  cheek  and  tearless  eyes  raised  unflinchingly  to  his 
own.  '  I  have  but  last  night  returned,  and  I  learn  that  our 
poor  friend  has  been  aiTested  !  But  for  a  fatal,  unavoidable 
delay  I  shou-d  have  been  here  before  the  protection  which  I 
gave  you  had  expired.  By  what  miserable  chance  did  this 
occur  ? ' 

'  JNIonsieur,  that  you  must  ask  the  woman  in  whose  house 
you  placed  us.' 

'  You  are  mistaken.  She  was  aware  that  you  were  under 
the  aegis  of  EobespieiTe ;  I  took  care  of  that.' 


TEE  BLO  W  FALLS.  125 

*  And  aware  too  of  the  veiy  day  on  which  it  ceased  to 
serve  us.  You  took  care  of  that  also.  Oh,  do  not  deny  it, 
monsieiu',  for  I  should  not  believe  you.' 

'  You  thitk.  then,  that  I  have  allowed  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan  to  be  an-ested  % ' 

'  1  do.  She  was  an  obstacle  in  your  path,  and  you 
brushed  it  away.' 

'  As  I  would  anything,  anyone,  who  stood  between  us,'  he 
answered,  with  passion  intensified  by  the  strength  with  which 
he  repressed  it.  '  Child  !  I  would  break  you  yourself  if  I 
could  not  make  you  yield  otherwise.  Do  you  know  the  old 
story  of  the  sKght  vase  which  floated  down  a  stream  in 
company  with  a  brazen  jar  1  There  is  your  history,  unless 
you  will  hear  reason,'  and  she  saw  the  fierce  and  dangerous 
gleam  in  his  eye.'  '  Do  you  think  you  can  measure  yourself 
asjainst  me  1 '  he  contmued,  as  if  he  understood  how  inwardlv 
and  in  silence  she  was  rallying  all  her  powers  of  I'esistance, 
and  though  her  spirit  was  rising  in  indomitable  revolt  she 
trembled  at  the  inci-easing  vehemence  of  his  tone,  and  the 
look  in  his  face.  '  Foolish  one !  many  who  were  strong  in 
their  day  have  tried  it,  and  where  are  they  ]  Listen,  Edmee. 
J  do  not  speak  to  you  of  my  love,  you  know  it,  and  only 
shrink  the  more  from  me ;  I  tell  you,  whether  you  love  me 
or  abl)or  me  it  is  all  one,  you  must  yield,  but  if  you  yield 
voluntarily,  without  delay,  I  will  save  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan.' 

'  You  will  do  that  1 '  she  said,  with  a  ciy  of  anguish  and 
uncertainty. 

'  I  swear  it.  And  what  is  more,  to  me  the  thing  is  a  farce, 
an  idle  form,  but  if  that  satisfy  you,  I  will  make  you  my 
wife  in  the  way  you  think  essential,  I  will  find  a  priest — it 
has  been  done  before  now  ' — he  was  thinking  of  Danton's 
Btrange  second  maiTiage.  *  Are  you  satisfied  ?  You  silly 
child,  what  is  it  in  you  that  bewitches  meV  he  added  im- 
patiently, and  stood  looking  at  her,  waiting  for  her  answer. 
It  was  long  in  coming. 

'  Where  is  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  1 '  she  asked  at 
last. 

'  Probably  in  the  Luxembourg.'  ,  . 


126  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  Ah  ! '  and  then,  after  another  long  pause,  '  Give  me  till 
to-mon'ow  to  consider.' 

'  "  Femme  qui  ccoute  et  ville  qui  parle  sont  pcrdues," ' 
he  muttered  to  himself.  '  So  be  it.  Have  pity  on  youi-self, 
Edmee ;  why  cannot  you  love  me  1  Ah,  once  mine,  and  I 
swear  you  sho,ll  do  so  ! '  He  stooped  over  her,  but  she 
started  away  from  his  touch  with  a  movement  of  fear  and 
hoiTor. 

'  So  ! '  he  said,  at  once  recovering  his  usual  cynical  tran- 
quillity, '  it  is  to  be  war  between  us,  then]' 

'  T  did  not  say  that,  but  give  me  one  day;  it  is  not  much 
to  ask.' 

'  You  think  .so  1  It  is  all  that  stands  between  life  and 
death  with  many  a  one  at  this  moment.  One  day,  then, 
Edmee ! ' 

'  You  assure  me  that  nothing  shall  happen  to  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan  in  that  time  1 '  she  cried,  struck  with  a 
sudden  thought. 

'  What  !  you  think  I  might  treat  you  as  some  spirituel 
monarch  did  his  enemy's  son,  and  buy  what  I  want  v/ith  a 
dead  body  1  No,  I  will  deal  fairly  by  you.  Adieu  then, 
xmtil  to-moiTow  evening,  when  I  will  come  and  learn  your 
decision.  Be  well  assured  that  the  Chevalier  would  not 
thank  you  for  allowing  an  imaginaiy  bond  between  you  and 
him  to  prevent  your  saving  the  life  of  his  dearest  relative.' 

He  had  gone,  and  a  long  time  had  passed,  yet  Edmee  still 
sat  whei"e  he  had  left  her,  with  hidden  face,  fighting  out  a 
cruel  battle,  where  generosity,  self-sacr'fice,  perhaps  duty 
itself,  seemed  airayed  on  the  side  of  wrong,  and  only  the 
voice  of  her  heart  and  of  honour  spoke  on  the  other  side. 
Those  last  words  of  De  Pelven's  rang  in  her  eare.  Assuredly 
Alain  could  not  wish  her,  for  the  sake  of  a  tie  unsought  and 
unw«dcome,  to  refuse  to  redeem  the  life  of  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan,  the  relative  so  beloved  by  him,  so  good,  so  dear 
to  her ! 

'  And  she  would  like  to  live  !  Oh,  if  it  had  be'^n  I  whom 
they  took,  but  she  would  like  so  much  to  live  !  Th°re  are  so 
many  who  would  be  glad  to  die,  while  she  .  .  .  Oh,  what  shall 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  127 

I  do  ?  After  all,  who  would  suffer  but  myself? '  murmured 
the  girl,  to  whom  the  cup  of  life  had  hitherto  offered  little  but 
bitterness.  But  still  the  Liiward  voice  answered  stubbornly, 
'  I  cannot  do  it,'  and  the  battle  was  still  unfoaght,  though 
she  was  exhausted  into  a  dull  calm,  when  old  Lafarge  came 
back,  loaded  with  provisions,  which  he  had  laid  in  un- 
stintedly, with  the  enjoyment  of  one  spending  money  not  his 
own.  After  spreading  them  out  triumphantly,  he  observed, 
'  My  daughter-in-law  says  that  the  citoyenne  Valentine  is  in 
the  Luxembourg.  I  do  not  object  to  your  going  out  by-and- 
by  after  yon  have  got  our  dinner  ready,  and  Theroigne  is  at 
her  club ;  the  prisoners  often  stand  at  the  windows,  and  you 
might  g?t  a  sight  of  her.  Theroigne  woiild  have  me  keep  you 
a  close  prisoner,  but  I  will  not  be  always  ordered  by  her ;  I 
am  here  as  the  representative  of  the  nation,  and  shall  do  as  I 
please,  only  you  miist  wait  till  she  is  gone  oiit  .  .  .  and  you 
need  not  mention  to  her  that  you  have  quitted  the  house — 
you  understand  ? '  he  said,  much  divided  between  the  desire 
of  emancipating  himself  on  the  strength  of  '  his  little  brief 
authority,'  and  his  habitual  fear  of  his  formidable  filldtre. 

'  In  the  Luxemboiu'g  !  He  told  me  the  truth  then.  And 
I  may  perhaps  see  her ! '  Edmee  said  to  herself — '  see  her 
dear  face,  and  let  her  know  that  I  am  with  her  in  heart. 
At  least  I  can  try,  and  I  need  not  make  up  my  mind  to-day.' 

The  poor  chance  of  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  captive  had 
put  new  life  into  her ;  there  seemed  a  check  in  the  i-ising 
tide  of  misfortune,  and  hope  rose  up,  unreasonable,  immortal, 
in  her  breast. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

A     FRIEND     IN     NEED. 


The  prisons  had  never  been  so  full  as  at  this  moment.  Such 
legal  formalities  as  had  hitherto  been  observed  were  now  cast 
aside;   the  accused  were  no  longer  allowed  an  advocate  at 


128  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

their  trial,  and  the  court  which  judged  them  was  bidden  to 
observe  no  law  but  '  that  of  then*  conscience,  enlightened  by 
patriotism,  to  the  end  that  the  Hepublic  might  triumph,  and 
its  enemies  perish.'  Fifty  or  sixty  prisoners,  from  all  parts 
of  Paris,  were  daily  condemned  and  earned  away  in  the  same 
afternoon  to  be  guillotined.  The  accusation  of  having  con- 
spii'ed  in  prison  was  now  the  favoiu-ite  charge  against  them, 
and  the  miserable  captives  knew  that  they  were  sxuTounded 
by  spies,  ready  to  falsify  their  most  innocent  words,  and 
denounce  them.  The  extremes  of  French  society  were 
crowded  together ;  rich  and  poor,  bad  and  good,  high  and 
low.  The  Revolution  had  become  a  war  of  class  against 
class  ;  in  every  rank  men  tried  to  destroy  those  a  step  above 
them;  the  crimes  of  1793  had  dishonoured  the  gi'eat  move- 
ment of  1789,  and  fatally  involved  it  with  the  name  and 
doctrines  of  the  Jacobins.  It  only  remained,  as  some  dema- 
gogue had  urged,  to  erect  a  stone  guillotine  opposite  the 
Tuileries,  that  it  might  become  a  public  and  national 
movement. 

The  hour  of  four  was  the  favourite  one  for  executions. 
As  usual  at  that  hour  Madame  Lafarge  went  out,  and  Edmee, 
for  once  indifferent  to  the  fear  which  had  until  now  always 
haunted  her  of  meeting  those  lucjubrious  death-carts  with 
their  freight  of  young  and  old,  availed  herself  of  her  keeper's 
permission,  and  went  out  also,  absorbed  in  the  hope  of  seeing, 
if  but  once  more,  the  face  which  had  gi'own  so  dear  to  her. 
She  paused  as  she  crossed  a  bridge  over  the  Seine,  however, 
fancying  that  someone  had  spoken  her  name.  It  was  only 
fancy,  but,  recalled  to  the  scene  ai'ound  her,  she  looked  up 
and  down  the  river,  shuddering  The  sim  was  low,  and  cast 
a  sinister  light  on  the  Tuileries  and  the  Louvre ;  the  stream 
ran  red  under  the  bridge.  Edmee  hurried  on,  turning  away 
her  eyes.  She  heard  a  man  leaning  on  the  parapet  mutter, 
'  The  very  river  rolls  blood  !  Blood  on  the  earth,  on  the 
sky,  in  the  water  ! '  Her  mind  was  full  of  the  fear  lest  in 
the  waning  light  she  should  not  be  able  to  distinguish  anyone 
at  the  windows  of  the  Lirxemboui'g,  but  the  words,  and  the 
accent  of  hori-or  and  remorse  in  which  they  were  uttered, 
came  back  to  her  afterv^^ards,  and  long  haunted  her  ear.     In 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  129 

the  increasing  cold  of  the  March  evening,  far  more  like  winter 
than  coming  spring,  few  people  were  abroad,  and  the  leafless 
gardens  of  the  Luxembourg  were  almost  empty,  but  some 
women  and  a  few  men  were  walking  in  them,  and  turning 
anxious  strained  glances  towards  the  windows,  where  they 
hoped  to  see  dear  faces,  Edmee  could  perceive  that  there 
were  gi'oups  looking  out,  but  so  far  above  and  away  from  the 
nearest  spot  to  which  she  could  approach  that,  as  she  had 
feared,  in  the  dim  twilight  which  had  rapidly  succeeded  the 
lurid  sunset,  no  one's  features  could  be  distinguished.  She 
stood  gazing  up  at  the  walls  of  the  prison-palace,  unable 
to  give  up  this  last  hope,  and  feeling,  as  many  and  many 
others  had  done  who  like  her  had  stood  beneath  them,  as  if  her 
heart  must  break.  Wild  thoughts  of  bribing  a  jailor  with 
all  she  had  to  admit  her,  of  saying  or  doing  something  which 
should  cause  her  to  be  impi'isoned  too  came  into  her  mind  ; 
she  advanced  so  near  as  to  be  x'oughly  ordered  back  by  a 
sentinel,  and  made  so  little  movement  to  obey  that  he  pointed 
his  gun  at  her,  but  lowered  it  with  a  half-laugh  as  someone, 
just  come  out  of  the  palace,  said,  '  Nay,  nay,  citizen ;  there  is 
no  credit  to  be  gained  by  hitting  a  mark  so  close  as  that  1 
And  'tis  only  a  child  ! ' 

Edmee  fancied  that  the  kind  voice,  which  had  a  foreign 
accent,  was  not  unknown  to  her ;  she  turned  to  the  speaker, 
and  saw  a  young  man,  with  a  country  air,  and  a  plain,  agi'ee- 
able  fiice  ;  he  earned  a  portfolio  under  his  arm,  and  wore  a 
very  homely  costimie,  which  however  had  none  of  the  studied 
I'aggedness  and  squalor  aijned  at  by  the  extreme  Republicans. 
On  his  side  he  studied  her  countenance  with  a  considering 
and  puzzled  look  ;  presently  his  face  lighted  up  with  pleased 
siir^irise,  as  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  '  You  do  not  remember 
me  1     We  met  on  the  road  to  IMortemart.' 

'  Ah  !  is  it  possible  ! '  cried  Edmee,  enchanted  as  if  she 
had  unexpectedly  met  a  survivor  of  some  shipwreck  from 
which  she  had  believed  none  but  herself  to  have  escaped. 
*  Yes,  you  said  that  you  were  going  to  Paris.  You  were 
going  to  learn  painting.     I  recollect  it  all.' 

The  face  of  the  young  Swiss  clouded,  and  it  was  with  a 
sad  and  depressed  air  that  he  replied,  '  That  is  not  worth 


130  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

speaking  of  just  now.  Let  ns  walk  about  the  gardens;  speak 
loAv,  one  never  knows  who  may  be  listening,  or  where.  Why 
are  you  here  ? ' 

*  Alas  !  my  aunt  is  imprisoned  here.* 

*  Your  aunt  % ' 

*  Yes — that  is — '  Edmee  had  of  late  grown  so  tised  to  the 
name  that  she  had  called  her  so  unconsciously — '  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan.' 

'  Is  it  so  %  She  was  so  kind  to  me  ! '  said  Balmat,  with 
great  concern.     '  Since  when  is  she  a  pi-isoner  % ' 

'  Only  since  this  morning.  Ah,  it  seems  such  a  long 
time  ! ' 

'  And  are  you  alone,  or  is  he  with  you  ? '  asked  Balmat, 
thinking  of  Alaia. 

*  Quite  alone  now.' 

Her  voice  quivered ;  his  kind,  grieved  looks  overset  hei" 
self-command,  and  her  loneliness  seemed  to  fall  all  at  onca 
\fi\h.  a  crushing  weight  upon  her. 

'  You  hoped,  no  doubt,  to  see  her  at  some  wiadow.  Bui 
I  can  do  better  than  that  for  you  ;  I  can  take  her  a  message, 
and  give  you  news  of  her.' 

*  You  !     It  is  possible,  then,  to  enter  the  prisons  % ' 

'  For  me,  yes.  I  have  a  pass  which  admits  me  to  all  the 
prisons  of  Paiis.  One  of  our  great  patriots,  who  has  a  turn 
for  art,  and  especially  for  beauty,  desu-es  to  have  a  gallery  of 
portraits  of  all  the  beautiful  or  remarkable  people  who  are 
arrested,  and  I  am  making  crayon  likenesses  for  him.' 

Edmee  started  in  horror  as  Balmat  said  this,  in  his  usual 
tranquil  way ;  he  perceived  her  start,  and  smiled. 

'  What ! '  she  cried,  '  you  lend  yourself  to  this  ?  You 
abase  your  ai-t  to  gratify  such  a  monster  as  this  man  must 
be  1     You  must  be  worse  than  he  ! ' 

*  You  would  be  less  displeased,  citoyenne,  if  you  knew  how 
many  messages  I  am  thus  enabled  to  take  backwards  and  for- 
wards ;  how  many  families  have  now  the  porti'ait  of  someone 
whom  they  will  never  see  again  in  life,'  answered  Balmat, 
quietly. 

'  Ah,  forgive  me  !  I  did  not  understand,  I  was  too  hasty. 
To  do  all  this  you  must  constantly  risk  your  life !     Forgive 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  131 

me.     And  you  \vill  see  my  aunt ;  you  will  tell  her  how  my 

lieax-t  is  always  with,  her  ;  you  must  cany  hex-  this  money ' 

'  No,  no,  only  a  few  francs.  You  do  not  know  hov/  close 
a  watch  is  kept  upon  the  prisoners.  If  it  were  supposed  that 
she  had  money  about  her  she  would  lose  it  all.  I  did  not  see 
her   to-day  .   .  .  perhaps  she  is  in  the  entresol  above  the 

excellent  De  I\Iouchys ;  she  will  probably  see  them ' 

'  You  comfort  me  already  !  I  can  imagine  where  she  is, 
and  I  liave  heai'd  her  speak  of  the  marechal  and  his  wife. 
When  shall  you  see  her  ? ' 

'  To-moiTow,  I  pi'omise  you.  But  now  you  must  go 
home.  See  how  dark  it  grows,  and  you  are  so  thinly 
dressed ! '  said  Balmat,  looking  at  the  muslin  cap,  with  the 
inevitable  tricolour  cockade,  and  the  print  dross  covered  with 
little  bouquets,  which  was  the  costume  adopted  by  Edmee 
since  she  came  to  Paris,  as  least  remarkable.  Y6a  have  not 
even  a  shawl ! ' 

'  I  forgot  to  put  it  on.' 

*  She  would  not  be  pleased  at  that !     Comt»,  let  me  see 
you  home  ;  whera  do  you  live  ] ' 
'  Homo  !     Ah,  if  you  laiew  ! ' 

'  Yes,  it  must  seem  very  empty,  very  desolate.  But  have 
you  not  seen  him  ...  St.  Aignan  1 ' 

'  ]\Ionsieur  le  Chevalier  ]  Oh,  he  escaped  to  Switzerland  ; 
he  did  not  come  with  us.' 

'  I  know  that,'  said  Balmat,  turning  out  of  the  gardens  ; 
*  but  he  returned  to  Francs  after  his  father's  death.  The 
Count  was  killed  in  a  duel.  I  do  not  know  the  details,  but 
he  seems  to  have  challcntred  someone  who  accused  him  of 
having  caused  some  plot  to  fail  by  mismanagement.  It  seems 
that  the  Chevalier  knew  nothing  of  this  plot,  whatever  it 
was,  and  thought  it  concerned  his  honour  to  return  and 
justify  himself  to  some  friend  or  relation — Do  Pelven  I  think 
was  the  name.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  and  then  1 ' 

'  He  crossed  the  frontier  disguised  as  a  carter,  went  to 
Mortemait,  found  you  gone,  no  ono  knew  where,  came  to 
Palis.  This  Pelven  was  absent,  and  he  could  learn  nothing 
of  his  movements — you  undei-stand  that  it  was  necessaiy  to 


132  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

observe  the  utmost  catition  for  fear  of  aiTest,  and  endanccerinEt 
those  who  had  25i'Ocured  his  passport  when  he  emigrated. 
He  therefore  could  do  nothing  hwt  leave  a  letter  for  his 
friend,  and,  I  bo'ieve,  quitted  Paris  a  w^eek  ago,  intending  to 
reach  England,  if  possible.' 

'  Holy  Virgin  !  He  returned  to  Paris  !  What  madness  ! 
If  De  Pelven  had  been  here  !  You  are  sure  M.  de  St. 
Aignan  Ls  gone?     And  how  do  you  know  all  this?  * 

'  Very  simply ;  I  understood  from  what  he  said  before  me 
to  his  aunt  that  he  was  going  to  Switzerland,  and  told  him 
that  if  he  would  kindly  inform  my  family  of  our  meeting  and 
of  his  aunt's  hospitality  to  me,  they  would  serve  him  to  the 
utmost  of  theii"  power.  Not  well  knowiag  where  to  fo,  he 
and  his  father  settled  for  same  weeks  in  my  village,  in  our 
house,  in  fact ;  and  during  that  time  they  received  a  letter 
from  me,  sayuig  where  I  lodged  in  Paris,  and  that  David 
had  allowed  me  to  join  his  scholars  ...  all  was  new  and 
hopeful  then  ...  so  when  he  came  to  Paris  he  sought  me, 
and  gave  me  news  of  my  j^eople.' 

Edmee  found  herself  led  on  in  her  turn  to  tell  one  thing 
after  another  until  Balmat  asked,  '  Is  there  no  one  to  whom 
you  can  apply  in  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  behalf] ' 

*  Only  one,  and  he ' 

'  This  Pelven  who  advised  you  to  come  here  1  who  placed 
you  in  that  house  1     Can  you  trust  him  1 ' 

'  Trust  him  ! ' 

'  What  does  he  want  of  you  1 '  asked  Balmat,  suddenly, 
and,  as  she  did  not  answer,  '  Pai'don  me,  I  had  no  right  to 
ask.' 

'  I  will  tell  you ;  I  have  no  one  to  consult ;  perhaps  you 
may  help  me,'  she  said,  wearily.  '  He  says  he  loves  me  ;  he 
cffei'S  to  marry  me,  to  find  a  priest.' 

'  He  does !  Then  his  love  is  earnest,  for  the  risk  is 
tremendous.  But  are  you  free?  Monsieur  le  Chevalier 
spoke  of  his  aunt  and  his  wife.' 

'  Yes,  I  am  his  wife  by  the  new  laws.' 

*  It  stands  thus,  then  ;  this  De  Pelven  would  marry  you 
—and  you  1 ' 

'  It  Avould  save  her  life  ! ' 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  133 

*  Ah,  I  begin  to  understand.  That,  then,  is  the  condi- 
tion. You  can  save  her  life  if  yon  commit  a  sin  1  For  you 
think  it  a  sin,  do  you  not  1  But  if  that  be  the  only  way,  it 
cannot  be  God's  will  that  she  should  be  saved.' 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  It  seemed  strange  and  start- 
ling in  these  times  to  hear  a  man  thus  simply  lefer  a  matter 
to  God's  will.  Edmee  felt  as  if  she  had  found  a  plank  to 
cling  to  on  the  troubled  ocean  upon  which  she  was  tossed, 
but  her  affection  for  ISIademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  made  her 
slow  to  acknowledf'e  him  in  the  i-isrht.  On  the  other  hand, 
ever  since  De  Pelven  had  pursued  her  with  his  love,  Alain's 
claims  had  seemed  more  and  more  valid,  and,  uni'casonable 
as  it  might  be,  the  knowledge  that  he  had  so  lately  been  near 
her,  had  sought  her,  strengthened  the  impression.  They 
had  not  exchanged  another  word  when  they  reached 
the  bridge  over  which  Edmee  had  come ;  the  buildings  on 
either  shore  were  now  a  dark  indistinct  mass  of  shadow  ;  the 
towers  of  Notre  Dame  rose  dark  in  the  distance,  and  the 
river  flowed  pale  below,  reflecting  the  rising  moon.  The  man 
whom  she  had  seen  leaning  on  the  parapet,  wrapped  in  his 
cloak,  was  still  there,  now  in  close  conveisation  with  a  com- 
panion. They  moved  as  Edmee  and  Balmat  approached,  and 
walked  away,  arm  in  arm,  and  speaking  low  and  rapidly. 
Balmat  caught  a  glimpse  of  their  faces  :  '  Danton,'  he  said  in 
a  whisper,  '  and  Camille  Desmoulins  ! '  and  they  looked  after 
the  two  celebrated  Republicans  in  silence,  Balmat  with  in- 
diffei-ence,  Edmee  with  something  like  loathing,  but  neither 
guessing  that  a  few  days  later  both  these  men  would  be  under 
sentence  of  death  in  the  Conciergei-ie. 

'We  must  say  good  night,'  Edmee  said  at  last.  'You 
"vnll  see  her  to-morrow  % ' 

'  Cei-tainly.  But  you  cannot  go  home ;  you  must  not 
throw  yourself  into  the  hands  of  this  man.  I  shall  take  you 
to  my  lodging.  I  have  a  room  in  the  house  of  an  Auvergnate, 
rather  fond  of  money — she  scraped  all  she  has  up  Hard  by 
Hard,  poor  soul  ;  but  you  will  be  s;ife  there.  For  a  few 
assignats  she  will  arrange  about  your  papers  with  her  section ; 
they  are  not  a  bad  s(?t,  as  times  go,  where  we  are,  and  she 
has  a  nephew  who  will  manage  it.     Come.' 


134  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Edmee  hesitated,  alarmed  at  this  decisive  step,  but  Balmat 
■was  resolute.  '  Do  right,  citoyenoie,  and  leave  the  rest.  She 
would  never  pardon  your  buying  her  life  at  such  a  price. 
That  bird  of  prey  shall  not  have  the  poor  little  dove ! '  he 
added  to  himself,  and  finally  Edmee  yielded,  with  a  sense  of 
security  in  being  overriiled. 

'  That  is  right,'  he  said,  as  they  diverged  into  a  quarter  of 
the  city  unknown  to  her,  and  remote  from  the  one  where  she 
had  been  living.  '  Another  day  you  might  not  have  bei^n 
allowed  to  leave  the  house,  and  how  could  I  have  conveyed 
news  of  our  friend  to  you  there  1  By-the-by,  what  name  will 
you  be  known  by  1     You  say  she  called  herself  Valentine.' 

'  I  will  be  the  citoyenne  Alaiu,'  answered  Edmee,  blush- 
ing a  little,  while  a  smile  came  on  her  lips  for  the  first  time 
for  many  days. 

'  A  good  name !  and  we  will  say  that  your  husband  is 
seeking  employment  away  from  Paris;  that  is  quite  true, 
and  it  is  better  that  you  shorld  be  known  as  a  manied 
woman  ;  it  is  more  respectable,'  observed  Ealmat,  contem- 
platiQg  with  some  dissatisfaction  the  girlish  air  of  his  com- 
panion.    '  See,  this  is  the  house  where  I  lodge.' 

They  had  reached  a  narrow  and  gloomy  street,  and  the 
house  was  an  old  dilapidated  building,  Avhich  its  present 
possessor  had  bought  at  a  rate  which  did  not  greatly  tax  her 
means.  They  went  up  a  winding,  steep  staircase,  after  pass- 
ing thi-ough  a  coiii-t  as  damp  and  dismal  as  a  well,  with  a 
ruined  fountain  in  the  middle,  and  from  the  garret  where 
Edmee  found  l\erself  she  could  look  into  a  neisrhbouririg 
cemetery,  full  of  desecrated,  broken  tombs.  There  was 
hardly  any  furniture,  except  a  chair  or  two  and  a  small  bed, 
and,  as  if  the  extreme  poverty  of  his  dwelling  for  the  first 
time  struck  Balmat,  he  said  in  a  sorrowful,  apologetic  tone, 
*  I  had  not  thought  it  was  ffi  poor  a  place ;  I  do  not  know 
whether  you  can  live  heie.^ 

'  Oh  yes  !  but  you  1     You  are  giving  me  your  own  room. 

'  I  shall  manage  ;  I  know  where  I  can  go  for  to-night, 
and  to-morrow  we  shall  see.  Happily  you  have  plenty  of 
money,  and  can  buy  whatever  you  need.' 

*  It  is  all  we  have.     I  took  it  out,  hoping  somehow  to  get 


A  FRIEND. IN  NEED.  I35 

it  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.  But  I  can  make  lace,  and 
embroider  muslin.' 

'  That  is  well ;  my  landlady  may  be  able  to  sell  such 
things,  for  it  seems  that  even  now  women  buy  and  wear 
luxuries.     I  will  call  her.' 

He  went  downstairs,  leaving  Edmee  looking  round  her, 
•wirli  rather  a  siuking  heart ;  but  her  spirits  rose  when  he 
returned  with  his  Auvergnate,  whose  face,  though  hard- 
featured,  looked  honest,  and  who  seemed  ready  to  show 
kindness  to  the  gii-l,  who  was  not  avrare  of  the  charm  which 
she  possessed,  and  was  joyfully  sm-prised  at  the  unexpected 
gentleness  of  this  homely  woman. 

'  No,  no,  to-night  she  shall  sleep  with  me,  and  to-morrow 
we  can  settle  where  to  put  the  poor  little  cabbage,'  said  she, 
in  a  dialect  which  Edmee  found  it  hard  to  understa,nd, 
though  she  comprehended  the  land  look  and  tone.  '  Her 
aunt  in  prison,  her  husband  away  !  Poor  little  girl !  And 
she  can  pay  her  rent,  thou  say'st  ?  That  is  well.  Come  then 
with  me,  ni}'-  })retty  one  ;  thou  hast  a  good  friend  in  Jacques 
Balmat,  and  thou  shalt  have  anothei*  in  Madelon  Ci"Ocq.' 

She  took  Edmce's  cold  hand,  and  led  her  away  to  her 
own  kitchen,  setting  food  before  her,  and  showing  her  a 
rough  tendei-ness  v/hich  came  like  rain  on  thirsty  ground  to 
the  weary  girl,  who  took  her  hand  suddenly,  and  put  it  to 
her  lips,  to  the  surprise  of  Madelon.  '  Bon  !  bon  ! '  said  she, 
with  tears  starting  to  her  eyes.  '  Do  not  do  that,  pretty 
one  ;  thou  art  like  my  sister  Driette  .  .  .  my  poor  Driette. 
I  will  do  my  best  i"or  thee,  never  fear.' 

And  E(hriec  fell  asleep,  thanlvful  and  almost  hopeful, 
"with  very  little  consideration  for  the  perplexity  into  which 
her  non-return  would  throw  old  Lafarge. 


136  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

FOILED. 

In  whatever  form  De  Pelven  had  anticipated  Edmee's  de- 
cision, it  had  certainly  not  been  in  the  shape  of  silence  and 
vacancy,  but  when  he  came  into  her  salon  at  the  appointed 
time  this  was  all  that  greeted  him.  The  room  was  not 
indeed  absolutely  empty,  for  in  one  corner  of  the  sofa  dozed 
old  Lafarge,  his  snuff-box  slipping  from  his  hand,  and  shed- 
ding its  contents  unperceived.  De  Pelven  was  not  at  first 
aware  of  his  presence,  for  the  room  was  almost  dark,  and  he 
stood  looking  round  Avonderuig,  imable  to  grasp  the  situation  ; 
then  he  became  aware  that  there  was  someone  cowering 
among  the  cushions,  and  stepped  eagerly  forward,  only  to  be 
speedHy  undeceived  by  percei\Tng  something  very  unlike 
Edmee.  '  Where  is  the  citoyenne  '\ '  he  asked,  in  a  tone  of 
considerable  anger,  though  indeed  his  disappointment  was  not 
the  old  man's  fault. 

'  I  have  said  fifty  times  that  I  cannot  tell,'  answered  poor 
Lafarge  queriilovisly,  ai'oused  from  slumbers  in  which  he  had 
happily  forgotten  all  the  badgering  to  which  his  daughter-in- 
law  had  subjected  him  ever  since  she  had  discovered  Edmee's 
disappearance. 

'  Cannot  tell !     When  did  she  go  out  1 ' 

'  Yesterday.* 

'  How  ?  She  went  out  yesterday,  and  you  liave  not  seen 
her  since  ]     W^here  did  she  go  1 ' 

'  You  should  know  that  best,  since  my  flldtre  says  she 
went  to  you,  and  a  red  ass  could  not  be  worse  temiiered  than 
that  Th^roigne  ever  since.  It  is  a  dog's  life  tha,t  I  lead  v/ith 
her  ;  I  will  never  be  tender-hearted  agaia — but  who  could 
have  supposed  that  gii-1  so  ejdiste  ?  I  let  her  out  because  she 
begged  and  prayed  and  wept,'  said  Lafarge,  drawing  largely 
on  such  imagination  as  he  possessed ;  '  so  at  last  I  allowed 
her  to  go ' 

'  Had  you  let  her  fancy  herself  under  surveillance  then  ? 
— ^put  it  into  her  head  that  she  was  a  prisoner  ]     Sao'ehku  !  ' 


FOILED.  137 

said  De  Pelven,  grmdirj^  liia  teeth.     '  Wliat  a  misfortiine  it 
is  to  have  to  use  fools  !     Where  is  your  daughter-in-lav/  ? ' 

'  Downstairs,  as  far  as  I  know,'  replied  Lafarge  sulkily, 
as  he  tried  to  scrape  up  the  snuiT,  which  had  scattered  itself 
over  the  sofa. 

'  Tell  her  to  come  here  at  once ; '  and,  unwelcome  as  the 
command  was,  he  did  not  venture  to  disobey,  and  went  away 
slowly,  muttering  to  himself,  while  De  Pelven  struck  a  light, 
put  it  to  a  lamp,  and  then  stood  looking  round  v/ith  keen 
scrutiny.  Theie  was  no  token  of  a  preconcei-ted  flight ;  on 
the  contrary  everything  testified  that  no  preparations  had 
been  made,  and  that  Edmee  must  have  intended  to  return. 
Her  paint-box  lay  open,  a  drawing  was  half-finished  beside  it, 
her  lace-pillow  was  on  a  chair,  just  as  he  had  seen  it  all  when 
he  entered  after  the  airest  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 
Only  the  bowed,  girh'sh  figure,  leaning  vrith  hidden  face  over 
the  table,  was  absent.  Memory  brought  back  the  look  in 
those  sad  eyes  when  at  last  she  had  lifted  it.  '  Heavens  ! 
where  can  she  be  ? '  he  tliought,  pierced  thi-ough  and  tliiough 
with  the  anguish  of  apprehension  and  perplexity.  '  Gone 
since  yesterday  !     And  she  knew  no  one  in  the  v.^ho'e  city, 

unless '     His  very  lijxs  turned  livid  ;  the  tliought  oc- 

cuTcd  to  him  that  Alain,  whose  presence  he  had  learned  by 
the  letter  which  he  had  found  on  his  return  from  Nantes, 
might  after  all  have  remained  in  Paiis.  '  Is  it  so  ? '  he  said, 
half  aloud.  '  Has  he  found  her  ]  I  will  know  that  before 
this  week  is  over,  or  own  myself  as  gioat  an  imbecile  as  that 
old  idiot  himself,  and  this  time  she  will  not  escape  me.  Still 
in  Paris  !  If  so,  his  head  shall  fall  into  the  basket,  unless 
mine  loll  there  first.  So,  citoyenne,'  as  jMadame  Lafarge 
came  in,  with  a  red  Hush  on  her  handsome  face,  and  eyes 
ablaze,  '  you  have  let  her  go  ! ' 

'  Have  you  the  insolence  to  feign,  that  you  do  not  know 
whcr(!  e:h(j  is,  then  ■? '  rctui-ned  the  woman,  violently.  '  Do 
you  thmk  I  have  not  seen  your  game  all  along  ?  Am  I  a 
simpleton,  or  blind,  or  deaf?  ^ah.  \  (i  d' autresl  Theroigno 
Lafai-ge  is  not  so  easily  deceived,  va  ! ' 

'  I  tell  you  T  know  nothing ;  but  you  are  answerable  for 


138  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

lier,  and  I  call  on  yon  to  explain  what  lias  happened.     I  left 
lier  here  two  days  ago ' 

'  And  yesterday,  since  you  pretend  to  want  details,  de- 
claring that  she  was  going  to  the  Luxembourg,  that  old 
stockfish  Lafarge  allowed  her  to ' 

*  What  !  she  said  then  that  she  was  going  to  the  Lnxem- 
boiirg  gardens ! '  exclaimed  De  Pelven,  who  now  began  to 
fear  that  through  some  imprudence,  intentional  or  otherwise, 
Edmee  had  been  arrested. 

Theroigne  looked  at  him  in  extreme  surprise,  and  a  vivid 
satisfiction  flashed  over  her  flushed,  handsome  face.  '  Yon 
really  are  ignorant  of  her  whereabouts  ? '  she  asked,  between 
suspicion  and  joy.  '  She  really  is  not  with  you,  then  %  If 
you  dare  to  deceive  me,  you  know  what  to  expect ! '  she 
added,  clenching  and  brandishing  her  fist.  De  Pelven  paid 
her  no  attention.     He  was  deep  in  thought. 

'  Look  here,'  he  said  presently.  '  You  have  made  a  mis- 
take in  not  warning  me  of  her  absence.  Take  care  that  you 
do  not  make  another,  or  you  will  suflfer  for  it.  If  she  come 
back  you  will  receive  her  kindly,  and  ask  no  questions  ;  but 
let  me  know  at  once — at  once,  do  you  hear  ? ' 

The  sullen  ci'imson  flush  mounted  again  to  the  village's 
bi'ow.  *  I  have  had  enough  of  these  aristocrats  already,'  she 
answered  savagely.     '  The  neighbours  begin  to  talk.' 

'  You  will  do  as  you  are  told,'  said  De  Pelven,  looking  at 
her,  and  speaking  in  the  quiet,  peremptory  tone  of  one  who 
nevei-  admits  that  it  is  possible  for  anyone  to  disobey  him. 
*  You  have  your  instructions,  and  will  act  accordingly.' 

'  The  citizen  Pelven  foi-gets  that  we  ai-e  all  equal  now,* 
she  retorted,  jealousy  again  getting  the  upper  hand.  *  If  I 
chose  to  tell  anyone  that  he  has  been  concealing  two  aris- 
tocrats under  false  names  for  the  last  five  months  .  .  .  what 
is  bred  in  the  bone  comes  out  in  the  flesh,  and  for  all  he 
chooses  to  say  he  belongs  to  the  ci-devants  himself ' 

'  And  suppose  you  did  say  all  this  ^ '  said  De  Pelven,  with 
the  same  fixed  and  steady  look.  '  Suppose  you  were  so  un- 
advised as  to  say  it  ? '  he  repeated,  as  she  made  no  immediate 
answer. 

She  quailed  visibly,  but  glared  at  him  savagely.  '  Why, 
then  the  citizen  might  find  that  when  one  has  only  one  head 


FOILED.  139 

to  thi'ow  away,  it  is  better  to  be  friends  Avitb  Theroigne  La- 
fai'ge.' 

'  Take  the  warning  home  to  yoiu'self,'  he  answered  calmly, 
'  If  Y>-e  were  not  friends,  should  I  have  placed  these  women 
under  your  surveillance,  and  trusted  you  to  report  all  they  did 
to  me  ] ' 

'  That  Ls  true  .  .  .  after  all ,  when  she  is  here  I  know  what 
passes,'  said  Thei'oigne,  iji  a  milder  tone. 

'  Yes,  and  I  prefer  to  be  your  friend  than  to  be  forced  to 
be  your  enemy,  citoyenne.' 

There  was  a  softening  in  his  voice  like  a  caress,  and  as  she 
looked  at  him  he  smiled.  The  woman  was  one  of  the  fuiies 
of  the  Revolution,  coarse  and  passionate,  with  an  instinctive 
desire  to  pull  down  everything  richer,  better,  purer  than  her- 
self, and  a  boundless  hatred  of  the  upper  classes,  yet  this  I'C- 
fined  man  of  the  world  was  a  sort  of  demi-god  to  her ;  she 
worshipped  him,  and  crouched  befoie  him  as  a  panther  might 
before  the  keeper  whom  it  both  loved  and  feared,  and  never- 
theless might  some  day  spring  upon  and  rend  to  pieces.  She 
had  been  invaluable  to  him  as  a  means  of  influencing  her 
club,  and  her  information  of  the  intentions  and  movements  of 
the  faubourgs  had  gone  not  a  little  way  in  gaining  for  him 
that  reputation  for  foresight  and  knowledge  of  the  mob  which 
had  made  him  essential  to  one  leider  after  another  in  the 
Revolution.  '  We  are  friends,  my  good  Theroigne,  are  we  not  1 ' 
he  repeated,  and  she  answered,  as  if  in  spite  of  herself,  '  It 
shall  be  as  you  choose.' 

'  I  shall  come  here  to-morrow.  I  want  to  know  how  the 
people  will  take  Danton's  ai-rest,  if  Robespien-e  decide  on  it.' 

'  You  shall  have  news.  After  all,  Theroifme  Lafarge  is  of 
a  httle  more  use  to  you  than  that  imbecile  girl,  who  would 
rather  be  kissed  by  the  holy  guillotine  than  you  ! '  she  answered, 
with  a  glow  of  triumjih  in  her  eyes.  '  The  Dantonists  brave 
us,  it  seems ;  they  talk  of  mercy,  of  s^^aring  innocent  heads, 
vile  poltroons  !— is  anyone  innocent  ?  The  rejiublic  needs 
blood.  Danton  is  a  bad  citizen  ;  he  is  rich,  he  takes  gold  with 
both  hands  from  anyone  who  likes  to  buy  him ;  he  has  con- 
spii-ed  with  Dumouriez  and  the  Brissotius  !  I  do  not  love 
Robespien-e,  no  !  he  stops  shoi-t,  he  beUeves  in.  a  Supreme 
Being;  what  is  that  but  a  king,  and  therefore  a  tyrant  under 


140  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

anotlier  name,  I  ask  you  1  "We  have  dethrcaed  both  the  kings 
of  earth  and  the  King  of  heaven  !  We  want  no  divinity  but 
ourselves.  No  monarchy  above  if  we  mean  to  have  a  republic 
below  !  But  we  cannot  spare  Maximil  ien,  and  since  he  and 
Danton  cannot  agree,  Danton  must  die.' 

De  Pelven  had  listened  with  fixed  attention,  while  the 
orator  of  the  Societe  Revolutionnaire  perorated  with  the 
vehement  gestures  po  natui-al  to  her  that  she  used  them  un- 
consciously. '  So  ! '  he  said.  '  Then  the  f  lubourgs  will  not 
rise  and  deliver  Danton,  if  he  should  call  upon  them  ? ' 

'  The  people  will  be  angry,  very  angiy ;  he  is  their  idol, 
but  they  will  do  nothing.  Do  they  ever  deliver  anyone? 
And  they  will  perceive  the  strength  of  the  Comite  in  its  daring 
to  strike  Danton.' 

'  That  is  true.  I  thank  you,  my  good  friend ;  keep  me 
informed  how  the  pulse  of  the  faubourgs  beats.' 

'  And  you  Avill  not  fail  to  come  to-morrow  ? ' 

'  I  will  not  fail.' 

*  You  see  that  you  cannot  do  without  me  !  Do  you  want 
anything  suggested  to  the  Societe  1   any  plan  supported  1 ' 

'  On  the  contrary.  I  want  merely  to  be  sui*e  which  way 
the  cuiTent  is  flowing.  The  Rue  St.  Honore  gi'ows  weaiy  of 
the  executions.  The  householders  declare  that  the  daily  pro 
cession  of  the  condemned  disgusts  lodgers,  prevents  the  apart- 
ments from  being  let ;  I  saw  blinds  studiously  drawn  down, 
and  shops  shut  at  four  o'clock  yesterday  and  to-day.' 

'  White-livered  patriots,'  exclaimed  the  indignant  The- 
roigne.  *  Let  them  beware  !  What !  these  aristoci-ats  have 
oppressed  as  a  thousand  yeai-s,  and  a  few  months  of  bloodshed 
on  our  pai-t  seems  too  long  % ' 

*  If  it  were  only  the  aristocrats,'  suggested  De  Pelven. 

'  Wlioever  is  richer  than  I,  whoever  has  what  I  need  and 
have  not,  is  an  aristocrat  to  me.  What  right  has  he  to  possess 
more  than  another?  If  the  people  are  getting  blase,  give 
them  .something  to  whet  their  appetites.  Let  more  heads  fall 
daily  let  that  lazy  pig  Fouquier  Tinville  give  us  a  spectacle. 
For  me  there  is  no  sight  so  delightful  as  to  see  an  aristocrat  die ! ' 

De  Pelven  went  away  full  of  thought  which  almost  drove 
Edmee  out  of  his  mind.     He  had  wide  and  anxious  questions 


FOILED.  141 

in  hand  ;  he  was  in  the  secret  of  Eobespien-e's  intentions 
as  to  the  Dantonists,  and  was  taxing  all  his  saf;acity  and 
knowledge  of  his  native  pro-'.-ince  of  La  Vendee  to  foresee  tho 
tactics  of  the  EoyalLst  leaders,  and  advise  the  generals  of  the 
Republican  troops  sent  down  against  them.  Soon,  however, 
his  mind  reveited  whether  he  would  or  not  to  Edmee's  dis- 
appearance. As  long  as  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignau  was  in 
the  Luxembourg  he  thought  that  Edmee  would  not  fail  to 
visit  the  gardens,  and  for  many  days  after  he  spent  hoiu's 
there,  and  set  spies  to  watch  in  his  absence,  growing  almost 
frenzied  with  ii-ritation  and  anxiety  as  no  news  came.  That 
she  was  not  in  the  Luxemljourg,  in  Les  Carmes,  in  the  Con- 
ciergerie  or  any  of  the  other  pr-isons  he  had  asceitained,  but  if 
alive  and  free  the  problem  was  inexplicable  why  she  remained 
unseen  and  unheard.  Nor  did  it  seem  likely,  if  Alain  had 
found  her,  that  he  should  make  no  elTort  to  learn  anything  of 
his  aunt.  Balmat's  good  sense  was  a  match  for  De  Pelven's 
subt  e  brains  !  He  had  foreseen  this  danger,  and  insisted  that 
she  should  be  content  with  such  news  as  he  could  brincr  her 
of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  whom  he  contrived  to  see 
occasional'y,  having  indeed  free  run  of  the  prisons,  and  findiiag 
an  excuse  for  visiting  her  in  taking  the  portraits  now  of  one, 
now  another,  of  the  changing  inmates  who  shared  her  I'oom 
and  its  single  mattress.  De  Pelven,  as  he  walked  in  the  gar- 
dens, where  leaves  now  began  to  open  and  turf  to  grow  green 
with  spring  verdure,  meditated  on  j^lans  where  hundieds  of 
lives  were  concerned,  and  by  which  the  politics  not  only  of 
France  but  of  Europe  would  be  intluenced,  but  always  was  on 
the  alert  for  any  sign  of  Edmee,  but  always  in  vain.  Once 
he  thought  he  had  a  gb'mpse  of  the  slender  young  figure,  but 
a  second  glance  showed  him  that  it  was  the  heart-broken 
young  wife  of  Camille  Desmoulins,  looking  up  Avith  gestuies 
of  despaii'  at  the  palace  where  her  husl)and  and  Danton  were 
now  both  captives.  He  went  up  to  her  and  .said  softly,  '  You 
can  do  him  no  good  thus  ;  go  home ;  you  have  children,  do 
not  throw  away  your  life.' 

'  What  is  it  worth  to  me  now  1 '  she  cried,  turning  upon 
him  a  face  so  worn  and  wild  that  he  started  at  the  change  a 
few  da3's  had  wrought ;  '  the  cowards  will  murder  me  as  they 


142  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

■will  my  Camille ;  let  them  !  they  forget  that  r  tvoman's  blood 
swept  the  Tarqiiins  from  Rome  ! '  and  then,  with  a  sudden, 
inconsistent,  touching  return  to  hope,  she  held  up  her  finger 
to  make  him  Ksten  to  the  deep  murmur  of  the  crowd,  kept 
back  by  the  sentinels,  but  sui-ging  near  the  walJs,  to  catch  tlio 
sound  of  Danton's  voice  as  he  thundered  an  harangue  as  if  in 
the  tribune,  to  his  fellow-prisoners.  'Do  you  see?  do  you 
hear  ?  the  people  gather  ;  Danton  is  their  idol ;  they  will  not 
let  him  porii;h,  and  he  will  save  my  husband.  Yes,  I  will 
speak  to  them  myself ;  I  will  remind  them  of  all  he  has  done 
for  the  causa  of  liberty,  for  mankind — they  will  not  let  my 
Camille  die  ! ' 

The  rosy  colour  flushed  into  her  face ;  her  sweet,  appealing 
looks,  Ler  expressive  gestures,  her  white  dress  and  loosened 
hair  gave  her  an  indescribable  charm,  enhanced  by  the  ex- 
treme youthfulness  of  her  appearance.  De  Pelven  shook  his 
head,  and  with  a  few  murmured  words  turned  away,  while 
she  again  gazed  upwards  at  the  windows,  and  clasped  her 
hands  with  a  cry  of  joy  as  she  sprang  forward,  suddenly  see'ng 
the  face  which  she  sought  pressed  against  the  glass,  with  a  sign 
of  hand  and  head  wliich  showed  her  that  she  was  seen. 

'  She  is  dangerous  ! '  De  Pelven  thought,  observing  her 
from  afar,  for  he  did  not  care  to  be  seen  in  lengthened  com- 
munication with  the  wife  of  Desmoulins.  '  If  she  were  really 
to  appeal  to  the  people  during  the  trial,  it  would  be  just  the 
spark  without  which  the  powder  will  be  threatening  all  dan- 
gerous possibilities,  yet  innocuous.  Robespierre  must  be 
warned  in  time.' 

And  then,  having  brought  his  thoughts  on  public  matters 
into  shape  and  oi-der,  he  gave  a  brief  space  to  that  pi-obleiu  of 
finding  Edmee  which  daily  exasperated  and  haunted  him  more 
and  more  persistently,  until  he  found  li's  cool  and  practise ' 
bi'ain  beginning  to  be  over-mastei'ed  by  the  strain  of  a  fixed  idea  " 
which  beset  him  sleeping  or  waking,  while  the  suspicion  that 
after  all  she  was  with  Alain  at  times  almost  ma:ldened  him.  He 
was  no  longer  young  ;  he  was  of  an  esseatially  cold  tempera- 
ment ;  he  was  one  of  those  men  whose  destiny  it  is  to  give 
little  and  receive  enormously,  almost  without  the  trouble  of 
holding  out  h's  hand,  but  he  had  no%v  plunged  headlong  into 
the  flood  of  passion,  and  found  himself  carried  away  helpless. 


'TUE  incorruptible:  143 

CHAPTER    XYIIL 

'the    INCOIIRUPTIBLE.' 

Four  yeai's  earlier  Maximilien  Robespierre  was  only  known 
as  a  lawyer  of  little  promise,  and  by  a  few  stilted  verses, 
which  he  had  published  from  time  to  time.  Then,  coming  to 
Palis  as  a  deputy  to  the  National  Assembly,  he  became  noticed 
as  a  jjersistent  speaker,  whom  as  yet  no  one  wished  to  liear. 
He  was  small,  plain,  with  a  penetrating  voice,  an  unprepos- 
sessing manner,  and  was  utterly  insignificant  in  the  eyes  of 
all  men.  No  one  guessed  that  in  this  man  was  the  soul  of 
the  Revolution,  and  that  it  would  be,  and  justly,  more  closely 
associated  in  the  futiu-a  with  his  name  than  Avith  that  of 
Marat,  Danton,  Hebert,  or  Desmoulins.  In  those  four  years 
RobespieiTe  had  risen  step  by  step  into  public  notice,  \intil 
by  the  spring  of  1794  his  name  became  at  once  the  most  popu- 
lar and  the  most  dreaded  of  any  then  in  power.  Danton  was 
the  favourite  of  the  masses ;  they  rejoiced  in  his  stentorian 
eloquence ;  tliey  imderstood  and  sympathised  in  his  coarse 
vices ;  they  embi'aced  him  as  one  of  themselves,  but  Robes- 
pien-e  was  mighty  in  the  double  and  iiTesistible  sti-ength  of 
a  fanatic  who  always  sees  his  goal  and  goes  dii'ectly  towards 
it,  unimpeded  by  any  scruples  whatev^er,  and  of  a  man  proved 
indifferent  to  any  bribe,  whether  wealth,  pleasure,  power,  or 
place.  Such  a  phenomenon  as  was  presented  by  this  French 
puritan  might  well  astound  a  nation  accustomed  to  the  shame- 
less conniption  of  the  higher  classes,  the  unblushing  misuse  of 
public  money,  the  unconcealed  greed  of  \\iQfermiers  generals, 
and  the  oppression  of  monopolies.  RobespieiTe  had  held  his 
own  way,  leading  each  party  until  it  would  go  no  further, 
then,  sacrificing  it,  and  leading  on  another.  He  had  studiously 
held  aloof  from  the  massacres  in  the  j^iison,  and  for  such  as 
Theroigne  Lafarge  '  did  not  go  far  enough,'  since  he  carefidly 
obsei*ved  a  legality  in  his  manner  of  blood-shedding  which  the 
*  Septembiiseurs '  despised,  but  he  never  hesitated  to  cast  the 
head  of  anyone,  however  close  or  dear  to  him,  who  imiieded 


144 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


his  schemes  or  dwaifed  his  pre-eminence,  to  the  executioner. 
Living  a  life  of  Spartan  simpiicity  in  the  house  of  an  aviLsun, 
he  pursued  his  course  ruthless  and  tranquil,  almost  worship])ed 
by  some  who,  thor.gh  destined  to  be  v/ounded  to  the  quick  by 
him,  yet  spoke  of  him  half  a  eentuiy  later  as  the  typo  of 
\'ii"tue  and  inconiiptibility,  while  to  the  gi'eater  part  of  man- 
kind his  name  was  never  to  be  uttered  without  a  shudder  of 
loathing.  De  Pelven  himself,  by  profession  a  student  of  cha- 
racter, looked  w4th  something  like  awe,  though  it  woul  1  not 
have  been  De  Pelven  had  not  a  tinge  of  contempt  mingled 
with  his  feelings,  on  this  strange  product  of  the  Revohxtion, 
the  man  of  one  idea,  not  sanguinaiy  from  actual  delight  in 
blood,  like  Marat,  not  animated  by  hatred  against  the  sins 
and  insolence  of  theii"  class,  like  the  Lameths,  but,  as  the 
world  instinctively  felt,  more  to  be  dreaded,  more  to  be  con- 
demned, than  any  of  his  fellow-rei)ubUcans. 

Yery  few  were  admitted  into  his  intimacy ;  he  might,  and 
indeed  did,  snatch  a  short  time  to  spend  in  the  evenings  with 
the  family  in  whose  hoiiss  he  lived,  one  of  whose  daughters 
was  his  betrothed,  but  the  man  who  uttered  such  innumerable 
speeches,  who  wrote  even  more  than  he  spoke,  who  was  in- 
cessantly consu'tsd,  implored,  soutjht  after,  had  little  time  for 
domestic  life.  Camille  Desmoulins  had  been  one  of  the  friends 
to  whom  his  door  was  always  open,  but  the  wavering,  boast- 
ing, vehement  Camille  had  crossed  his  path  and  thwarted  his 
projects,  and  Robespieire  knew  him  no  more,  Madame  Poland 
was  another,  but  her  hour  had  a^so  come.  When  De  Pelven 
sought  him  ia  his  gaiTet,  wliich  looked  out  on  a  carpenter's 
yard,  whence  came  an  incessant  sound  of  saws  and  hammers, 
he  found  him  sitting  as  usual  at  a  table  loaded  with  reports, 
denunciations,  pamphlets,  a  copy  of  the  '  Contrat  Social,'  a 
bundle  of  the  newspaper  which  Desmoulins  had  called  *  le 
vieux  Cordelier,'  and  a  gi-eat  heap  of  manuscripts,  written  in 
a  small,  careful  hand,  and  much  corrected.  A  volume  of 
PoiTSseau  lay  open,  close  to  his  hand,  and  an  eary  rose 
b'oom'^d  in  a  cup,  among  half-a-dozen  letters  lately  finished. 
Before  him  was  a  sheet  of  paper,  covered  with  names,  which 
ho  was  carefully  considering,  marking  some  with  one  piu- 
jDrick,  and  others  with  two.     Those  with  one  prick  were  the 


•THE  incorruptible:  145 

names  of  people  v.'liom  lie  suspected  to  be  dangerous ;  those 
with  two  such  as  he  knew  to  bo  so.  The  marks  to  these  last 
were  so  many  death-waiTants.  He  had  just  pricked  the 
double  sign  against  the  name  of  "Westsmiann,  who  had  be- 
come suspiciously  popular  by  his  militaiy  exploits  since  the 
da}""  when  he  fii'st  came  into  public  notice  as  a  leader  in  the 
attack  on.  the  Tuileries  of  August  10,  when  De  Pelven 
entered.  As  he  heard  his  step,  RobespieiTe  raised  his  pecu- 
liar, deep-set  eyes,  and  a  pale,  steely  ray  shot  out  of  them. 
Neither  of  these  men  thoroughly  understood  the  other,  but  to 
De  Pelven  RobespieiTe  offered  a  study  of  singular  interest, 
while  to  Robespierre  De  Pelven  was  a  man  as  indiffei'ent  to 
bribes  as  himself,  and  endowed  with  extraordinaiy  sagacity. 
Many  a  time,  he  knew,  had  De  Pelven  warned  him  of  some 
unseen  rock,  some  danger  ahead,  which  otherwise  would  have 
shipwrecked  him.  He  motioned  him  to  take  one  of  the  four 
chairs  which  the  room  contained,  and,  while  arranging  his 
lace  shirt-frill,  waited  for  him  to  speak,  looking  at  lijm  thi-ough 
half-closed  eyes,  with  a  cat-like  watchfulness. 

'  The  Chouans  are  making  hot  work  in  Brittany,'  ob- 
served De  Pelven,  seating  himself.  '  It  seems  that  they  have 
cut  to  pieces  another  of  Thurrcau's  garx-ison.' 

'  In  spite  of  the  amnesty  which  you  urged  our  granting  to 
the  Venieans ! ' 

*  La  Vendee  is  quiet  enough.  Charette  can  do  Kttle  there 
now.  But  you  may  remember  I  suggested  that  Carrier  would 
make  it  slippery  walking  if  he  kept  the  streets  ankle-deep  in 
blood.  There  should  be  a  cei-tain  meas\ire  in  all  things,  and 
if  the  sheep  are  to  be  bi-ought  back  willingly  into  the  fold,  it 
is  not  the  butcher  who  should  be  sent  to  drive  them.' 

'  You  speak  as  Phelippeaux  did,  and  Danton,'  answered 
Eobespierre,  gloomily.  '  This  transfer  of  the  war  to  Brittany 
Ls  a  gi-eat  misfortune ;  by  your  report  the  country  is  likely  to 
be  singularly  fatal  to  troops  who  do  not  know  it,  and  the  in- 
habitants brutally  sup?rstitious — the  smugglers  too,  you  de- 
clare, all  Royalists  !  How  is  that?  Who  suffered  more  under 
the  old  rd'gime  1 ' 

'  They  prefer  known  q\\}^  to  unknown,  it  woidd  seem.' 

'  Otherwise  the  i^olitical  horizon  is  clearing,  and  Europe 


146  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

trembles  before  the  glorious  victories  of  our  troops ;  but  -what 
of  England  r 

'  There  is  danger  brewing  there.' 

*  What !  more  danger  from  those  treacherous  iTisulaiirs  ? ' 
asked  Robespierre,  quickly.  *  What  are  they  saying  now  in 
their  Senate?  ' 

*  Not  saying,  but  doing.  One  of  our  agents  in.  London 
warns  me  that  Puisage  has  opened  communications  ^vith  the 
English  Government.' 

'And  what  wUl  the  effect  heV  asked  Eobespien-e,  with 
visible  emotion. 

'  Watch  the  coast  well,  and  there  "wt^II  be  no  need  to  ask,* 
replied  De  Pelven,  diily.  '  Grant  no  permission  to  any  emigre 
to  return,  have  eveiy  man  of  mark  among  the  exiles  in 
England  watch  erl,  and  resolve  either  to  let  Brittany  keep  its 
priests  and  its  customs  unmolested,  or  exterminate  the  whole 
population.' 

'  ThiuTeau's  infernal  columns  will  look  to  that.  Brittany 
is  a  hotbed  of  supei-st.'tion  and  fanaticism ;  it  must  be  purged 
by  blood.' 

'  It  seems  to  me  hardly  consistenlr^ith  our  doctrine  of 
perfect  equality,  but  it  is  unquestionably  happy  for  the  war 
that  the  Convention  passed  that  measure  decreeing  that  eveiy 
officer  in  command  shall  be  able  to  read  and  write,'  remarked 
De  Pelven,  with  a  little  sarcasm.  '  When  I  was  in  Anjou 
1  saw  two  thoroughly  well-planned  expeditions  fail.  One 
because  the  commander  mistook  a  river  on  the  map  for  a 
road,  and  the  other  because  a  captain  could  not  read  the 
instructions  sent  him  from  head-quarters.' 

'  Danton  kept  hjiiiDing  on  the  cruelties,  as  he  called  them, 
in  Anjou  and  Poitou,'  said  Robespien-e,  who  seemed  unable 
to  keep  the  fallen  Republican's  name  out  of  the  conversation. 
*  He  was  becoming  merciful,  except  indeed  to  me ;  I  heard 
that  he  said,  "  If  Maximilien  dared  attack  me,  I  would  tear 
out  his  heart  with  my  own  hands  !  "     Is  that  true  1 ' 

De  Pelven  nodded.  '  Good !  He  said  nearly  the  same 
thing  in  this  very  room.  The  colossus  stood  yonder,  gi-asping 
that  cha'r — see,  he  broke  it ! — gesticulating  and  declaiming 
as  if  he  had  been  in  the  tribune,  until  it  was  evident ' 

'  That  he  was  too  tall  by  a  head,'  suggested  De  Pelven. 


'THE  incorruptible:  147 

*  Just  so.     And  therefore '     He  handed  the  long  list 

of  names  to  De  Pelven,  who  lifted  his  eyebrows  with  an 
inquiring  look  at  the  name  of  General  Westermann,  \>\\t  on 
PiobespieiTe's  sign  that  the  ma,tter  was  decided,  did  not  seem 
to  think  it  worth  discussion,  and  returned  the  paper,  saying 
*  Only  one  mai*k  against  Tallien  1     Beware  of  that  man.' 

'  Ah,  he  warned  Danton — they  came  here  together,'  said 
Kobespieri-e,  with  a  dangerous  gleam  in  his  pale,  shifting 
blue  eyes,  and  he  leaned  his  pointed  chin  on  his  hand,  and 
looked  earnestly  at  De  Pelven.  '  When  they  left  me  he 
nrged  Ds.nton  to  go  straight  to  the  Convention  and  gain  its 
ear,  but  Danton  said  the  time  had  not  yet  come."  Tallien '3 
time  had  not  come  either — yet.'  And  then,  with  a  suppressed 
eagerness — '  Do  they  talk  of  Danton  much  1 ' 

*  Assirredly,  but  a  fortnight  hence  they  will  have  forgotten 
liim.' 

'  Is  there  anyone  else  who  occupies  men's  minds  1 ' 

'  Only  yourself.' 

EobespieiTe's  face  relaxed  its  habitual  concentrated  and 
anxious  watchfulness  ;  he  smiled  well  pleased.  '  Danton  cast 
a  mighty  shadow,'  he  said,  '  b\it  soon  he  v/ill  not  need  more 
room  in  the  ditch  of  the  cemetery  de  Mousseaux  tlian  other 
people.     It  is  ciirious  !     Hush,  I  hear  someone.' 

It  was  Diiplay,  the  nephew  of  the  joiner  in  whose  hous3 
they  were,  and  Pobespien'e's  secretary.  He  brought  a  letter, 
and  laid  it  before  RobespieiTe,  saying,  '  It  is  said  to  be  urgent,' 
and  withdrew. 

RobespieiTe  loved  no  auditors,  when  he  and  De  Pelven 
■were  together,  not  even  Simon  Duplay,  or  his  betrothed, 
Cornelia,  who  worshipped  him.  De  Pelven  knew  the  hand- 
writing, and  watched  him  with  close  and  curious  attention, 
while  he  read  the  rash,  impetuous,  pathetic  appeal  in  which 
Lucile  Desmoulins  alternately  recalled  old  kindly  memories, 
and  Tipbraided  the  false  friend,  and  yet  could  not  believe 
that  he  would  let  her  husband  perish, 

'  A  true  woman's  letter  ! '  was  his  only  comment,  as  he 
laid  it  down,  so  that  his  companion  might  read  it  if  he  thought^ 
it  worth  while  to  give  his  time  to  such  a  ti'ifle.     De  Pelven 
did  think  it  worth   while,  and  it  touched  him,  in  spite  of  his 
conviction  that  her  fate  was  inevitable. 


148  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  Poor  child  ! '  lie  said,  'it  is  a  pity  that  she  must  follow 
her  husband  ! ' 

'  She  ou.!:;^ht  to  be  in  the  L\ixemboiirg  instead  of  her  hus- 
band. But  for  her  he  would  not  lae  there,'  said  Robespierre, 
taking  the  rose  from  its  glass,  and  smelling  it  delicately. 
'  Tliat  retrogi-ade  movement,  that  weak  compassion  for  the 
guilty,  after  going  the  lengths  he  had  not  hesitated  to  do, 
had  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Roland's  wife  was  the 
soul  of  the  Gironde,  and  this  Lucile  inspired  Camille  and  his 
party.  No  woman  is  worth  anything  in  a  sustained  move- 
ment. They  go  too  far  at  first ;  they  are  invaluable,  as 
JNIirabeau  perceived,  at  the  beginning  of  a  revolution,  but 
they  stop  short  :  they  never  can  cany  a  thing  to  its  logical 
end.     They  ruin  a  cause  just  when  it  is  succeeding.' 

'  You  must  either  free  Camille  or  arrest  Lucile.  She  is 
very  young,  very  beautiful,  she  will  appeal  to  the  people 
dm-ing  the  trial,  and  mischief  will  come  of  it.' 

'You  are  right :  alas!  my  rose  is  overblown,'  said  Ro- 
bespierre, replacing  the  flower  in  its  vase,  whence  its  petals 
fell  in  a  crimson  shower  on  the  list  where  he  had  just  marked 
Lucilo's  name.  '  You  notice  no  discontent  among  the  people  ] ' 
he  added,  with  a  shade  of  uneasiness. 

'  Discontent  ?  As  I  came  here  I  heard  one  man  say  to 
another,  "  I  am  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  wall  now  ;  you  shall 
hear  of  me  some  day,"  and  the  other  answered,  "  Thanks  to 
til  3  Revolution.  Where  would  you  or  I  be  if  the  old  barriera 
of  caste  still  existed  %  "  ' 

A  singular  expression  of  mingled  and  contradictoiy  feel- 
ings passed  over  the  face  of  Robespien-e. 

'  "  Thanks  to  the  Revolution,"  they  did  not  name  me,  then?' 

'  Bon  !  he  has  destroyed  all  that  overshadowed  his  fame ; 
•will  he  annihilate  the  Revolution  now  %  '  thought  De  Pelven, 
with  secret  amusement,  answering  aloud,  '  WHien  men  s})eak 
of  the  Revolution,  the  vii-tuous  RobespieiTe  is  in  every  man's 
mind.' 

*  Is  it  so  1 — Danton  has  declared  that  his  name  will  have 
a  place  in  the  Pantheon  of  History,  and  I  too  have  tried  to 
serve  mankind.  But  Fouche  has  seemed  disquieted  of  late ; 
there  have  been  fewer  denunciations,  though  we  have  raised 
the  reward.' 


•  TEE  INCORR  UPTIBLE. '  149 

*  Possibly  not  many  remain  to  denounce.' 
'  Not  many,  c'.tii:en  Pelven  !  A  thousand  heads  miglit 
yet  iiiW,  and  we  should  not  have  freed  the  countiy  from  this 
fruitful  monster  of  aristocracy,  a  cursed  seed  which  lies  so 
th'ckly  in  the  gi'ound  that  but  for  incessant  watchfulness  a 
fresh  crop  would  spring  iip,  as  numerous,  as  dangerous  as 
ever !  It  is  this  endless  necessity  for  destroying  it  which 
prevents  my  being  able  to  give  my  energies  to  my  true  work 
of  purifying  the  morals  and  habits  of  the  commimity.  See 
here,  read  this  measure  which  I  propose  to  have  passed  on 
the  first  occasion,  obliging  everyone  to  state  the  amouiat  of 
his  fortune,  how  he  gained  it,  his  age,  his  profession,  and  what 
h.8  contributes  to  patriotic  objects.' 

'  Dear  friend,'  said  De  iPelven,  in  his  cool  and  sarcastic 
tone,  '  believe  me,  it  is  far  safer  to  arrest  a  dozen  Baiitons 
than  to  introduce  such  measures  as  these.' 

'  All  that  has  been  hitherto  done  was  but  to  cLaa*  the 
ground.  A  few  months  hence  the  v/orld  will  stand  amazed 
at  the  sight  of  a  Republic  such  as  Eome  and  Greece  uever 
saw  ! '  said  Robespierre,  and  his  eyes  glowed  and  kindled,  his 
meagre  ligure  seemed  to  dilate  as  he  spoke. 

'  The  world  does  so  already,  I  imagine,'  said  De  Pelven, 
with  scarcely  disgiiised  ii'ony,  yet  struggling  in  vain  against 
the  ascendancy  which  Robespierre  always  exercised  over  him 
when  they  were  together.  '  But  I  dare  not  occupy  more  of 
your  time — which  belongs  to  the  people,  to  mankind.  Stay, 
surely  I  had  something  to  say  ...  I  have  it ;  I  want  a 
warrant  of  release  for  a  person  now  in  the  Luxemboux-g, 
arrested  by  mistake,  a  cousin  of  mine.' 
'  A  woman  1 ' 

'  Yes — a  middle-aged  woman,'  added  De  Pelven,  seeing 
Robespierre's  siispicious  frown.  '  I  need  her  at  liberty  ]  her 
arrest  disconcerts  my  plans.' 

'  It  is  not  then  from  any  weak  pity  that  you  desire  her 
release  1 ' 

'  Not  in  the  least.  She  may  be  guillotined  immediately 
for  aught  I  cai-e  when  she  has  enabled  me  to  discover  twe- 
people  of  whom  I  have  lost  sight. 

'  You — a  member  of  the  Comite  de  Surety  Generale,  with 


150  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

all  its  means  of  investigation  at  your  command,  with  agents 
all  over  Pai-is,  yes,  for  anything  I  know,  in  the  very  house  of 
Catherine  Th(^os  herself ' — Robesi^ierre  paused,  and  looked  at 
him  with  his  singular,  covert  glance,  and  De  Pelven  winced, 
fpeling  himself  shrink  before  that  scnitiny  into  a  mere,  small, 
commonplace  plotter.  '  Yon  pretend  to  need  this  woman's 
release  in  order  to  find  these  peojile  ! ' 

*  This  Valentine  St.  Aignan  serves  me  as  one  of  those 
agents,'  said  De  Pelven,  adding  inwardly,  '  Tiger-cat !  va  !  I 
will  make  you  drop  a  prey  for  once.' 

'  Ha  ! — the  woman  for  whom  I  s'gned  a  protection  %  And 
who  are  the  people  whom  you  want  to  find  ]  ' 

'  Her  nephew,  emigre,  lately  returned  to  Paris,  possibly 
hr're  still,  and  a  girl,  who  doubtless  knows  his  movements. 
If  the  aunt  were  free,  they  would  communicate  with  her.' 

'  Is  then  the  law  not  observed  ordering  all  householdrrs  to 
put  outside  their  doors  an  exact  account  of  every  inmate,  age, 
name,  birthplace,  and  profession  1 ' 

'  Observed,  yes,  though  no  law  ever  was  framed  that  could 
not  be  evaded,  but  on  the  whole  this  is  obeyed,  and  a  cm-ious 
study  the  manner  is  in  which  it  is  followed  out.  The  rich 
and  the  well-boin  write  all  this  mmutely,  on  the  smallest 
sheet  of  paper  they  can,  and  post  it  up  as  high  as  they  dare. 
Some  aga'n  fasten  the  placard  by  a  nail,  or  a  wafer,  so  that 
the  wind  blows  it  about,  and  makes  it  difiicult  to  read.' 

*  That  shall  be  looked  to.     Well  1 ' 

'  Another  set,  the  purest  aristocrats  or  the  timid,  write  it 
large,  and  add  "  Vive  la  Hepublique  !  "  It  is  easy  to  I'ead 
the  chai-acter  of  a  householder  by  observing  these  bills  ! ' 

'  There  is  no  one  like  you  for  such  details,'  said  lioljes- 
pierre,  "i^ith  genuine  admiiation,  for  such  minutiae  as  these 
had  an  especial  attraction  for  him.  '  You  are  ideally  in- 
valuable, citizen  Pelven.  Hei-e  is  your  warrant,  but  recollect 
that  this  woman  is  under  surveillance  ;  use  her,  but  remember 
she  belongs  to  the  Pepublic,  and  eveiy  drop  of  blood  shed  by 
an  aristocrat  a'ds  to  purge  its  old  pollution.  Yv^'hat  do  you 
want,  Cornelia  1 ' 

His  betrothed  advanced  reluctantly  and  timidly  into  the 
room.  '  I  am  gi'ieved  to  intenaii^t  you,  Maximilien,  but 
several  deputies  from  the  Departments  wait  to  see  you,*  she 


'THE  incobruptible:  151 

said,  leaning  affectionately  on  his  chair.    '  Thej  crowd  to  visit 
the  "  iiicorruijtible  Robespierre." ' 

'  It  is  well.  Come  again,  my  friend,  when  you  have  news 
for  me.     Let  these  men  enter  at  once,  my  Cornelia.' 

De  Pelven  always  breathed  freer  when  he  left  Robes- 
pierre's presence.  For  him,  as  for  all  who  came  within  his 
immediate  influence,  this  man  had  a  deadly  fascination,  an 
inexplicable  attiaction  such  as  a  serpent  is  said  to  possess. 
'  If  I  stayed  long  with  him  he  would  mould  me  like  Avax,'  De 
Pelven  muttered,  angrily.  *  I  know  not  if  it  be  his  genius, 
or  some  sjiell  such  as  I  have  smiled  at  in  old  tales,  or  that 

he  is  in  such  teirible  earnest,  v\^hile  I ■.     And  yet  he 

must  fall,  fall  soon,  all  tends  that  way.'  De  Pelven  stopped 
as  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and  looked  out  at  the  carpenter's 
yard,  and  the  great  saw  movmg  suggestively  up  and  down  at 
one  end.  '  Fall  !  But  what  a  fall  it  will  be  !  How  he  trans- 
cends all  otheis  ! '  and  he  mentally  enumerated  the  other 
leadei-s  of  the  Revolution,  only  to  see  them  dwarfed  by  the 
one  whom  he  had  just  quitted.  The  deputies  were  coming 
up,  in  all  the  coai'seness  of  ulti-a-Republican  costume ;  he 
glanced  at  them,  and  laughed  inwardly  as  he  wondered  what 
they  would  think  of  the  marked  politeness  and  dainty  neat- 
ness of  their  idol,  as  he  saw  them  cast  displeased  and 
astonished  looks  at  himself  and  each  other,  evidently  taking 
him  for  some  aristocrat,  come  to  besiege  Robespierre  with  a 
petition.  A  puppet-show,  representing  a  little  guillotine  in 
operation  on  a  set  of  puppets,  was  performed  at  the  do^r  to 
an  admiring  audience  of  all  the  gamins  of  the  quarter,  who 
were  accompanying  the  spectacle  with  the  popular  aii-  of 
'  Dansons  la  guillotine,'  sung  with  gi^eat  Adgour  and  unani- 
mity. 

De  Pelven  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  went  by. 

'  Yes,  yes,'  lie  said  to  himself,  '  we  are  in  full  reign  of 
terror,  but  some  day  it  must  end,  must,  and  will  be  succeeded 
by  a  second,  only  that  will  be  the  Terreur  Blanche,'  and  he 
went  on  his  way  refl.ecting  as  he  often  now  did,  on  what  his 
course  must  be  if  the  Royalists  gained  the  upper  hand  again. 
'  And  that  would  not  be  long  delayed,'  he  continued,  '  if 
there  were  a  single  man  among  them  capable  of  being  a 
soldier   or   a   despot.      But    who   is   there?      The    Orleans 


152 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


princes]  Too  young.  The  King's  brothei-s ?  Bah,  they  are 
good  at  nothing  but  handling  a  knife  and  fork.  Who  then 
is  there  1  And  a  despot  we  must  have,  that  is  clrar.  The 
French  have  been  used  to  be  ridden,  and  bridled  and  spuired 
so  long  that  in  the  end  they  will  find  it  their  only  regime, 
and  hail  the  first  despot  with  genius  enough  to  deal  with 
them  as  a  driver,  only  he  must  know  how  to  i;se  and  I'atter 
GUI-  national  weaknesses,  and  have  no  inij,ossible  theoiies  of 
ideal  peifection,  like  our  iMaximihen  yonder.  The  only 
question  is  who  the  man  will  be.' 

For  even  the  far-sighted  De  Pelven  could  not  predict  that 
the  despot  whom  he  saw  to  be  a  necessary  link  in  the  chain 
of  events  was  that  young  Corsican  general  who  just  then  was 
in  imminent  danger  of  losing  his  head,  thanks  to  the  enmity 
of  his  fellow-countryman,  Salicetti. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


UNCAGED. 


Close  confinement  in  the  crowded  prison,  and  scanty  fare, 
wei-e  beginning  to  tell  on  the  health  of  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  if  not  on  her  spii-its,  though  it  was  surprising  to 
herself  how  soon  she  grew  accustomed  to  the  knowledge  that 
at  any  moment  she  might  be  summoned  to  cease  the  conver- 
sation in  which  she  was  engaged,  or  lay  down  the  hand  at 
whist  which  she  was  taking,  and  stand  the  mock  trial  ending 
almost  certainly  with  a  sentence  of  death,  as  every  hour  some 
of  her  companions  were  called  to  do.  She  so  cntii-cly  ex- 
pected this  resiilt  that  she  had  cut  her  hair  short,  to  prevent 
the  executioner  from  doing  so  on  the  scaffold,  and  it  was 
with  such  incredulovis  astonishment  that  she  heard  the  news 
of  her  release,  when  a  tui-nkey  summoned  her,  that  she  ex- 
claimed, '  There  must  be  some  mistake  ! '  De  Pelven  Avas  in 
the  court-yard  below,  with  a  carriage,  and  no  time  was 
allowed  for  farewells  to  her  fellow-prisoners,  as  much  asto- 


UNCAGED.  153 

nished  as  herself,  for  he  wished  as  little  to  be  said  or  known 
of  such  an  unwonted  act  of  clemency  as  possible,  aware  that 
Robespierre  honestly  reproached  himself  for  weakness  in 
sparing  an  aristocrat,  and  secretly  feared  the  result  to  his 
popularity  if  the  tale  got  abroad. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  had  imagined  that  Ealmat 
must  in  some  incompi'ehensible  way  have  compassed  her  de- 
liverance, for  though  too  much  in  dread  of  mouchards,  who 
might  overhear  and  report  what  passed,  to  say  much,  he  had 
contrived  to  convey  his  opinion  of  De  Pelven  to  her,  and 
exact  a  promise  that  she  v/ould  observe  absolute  secresy  as  to 
Edmee's  movements,  for  it  was  easy  to  foresee  that  De 
Pelven  would  try  to  leai-n  them  through  her,  though  Balmat 
had  not  dreamed  of  the  more  subtle  move  of  settmg  her  fi-ee, 
nor  guessed  that  this  De  Pelven,  who  seldom  spoke  in  the 
Convention,  and  took  no  leading  part  in  the  Comite  de  Sui'ete 
Generale,  had  the  power  to  demand  her  release  and  olitain  it. 
At  the  discovery  of  who  her  liberator  was,  a  great  revulsion 
took,  place  in  her  feelings,  and  she  could  only  hold  his  hand, 
and  litter  some  hiu'ried  words  of  gratitude  as  he  placed  her 
m^Q  fiacre. 

'You  look  ill,  dear  mademoiselle,'  he  said  gently,  ob- 
serving her  pallor  and  altered  countenance.  *  You  have  been 
suftering,  I  fear.' 

'  Of  an  illness  which  I  fully  believed  would  tei'm'nate 
fotally,  my  coiisin  !  It  is  the  usual  end  of  it  in  the  Luxem- 
bourg. I  can  hardly  yet  believe  myse'f  free  !  If  you  knew 
how  many  in  this  fortnight  I  have  seen  go  forth  to  de  ! 
Young  and  old,  men  and  women  ;  more  than  once  three 
generations  together,  or  a  whole  family,  happier,  it  seemed, 
than  those  of  whom  one  was  taken  and  the  other  left !  And 
yet,'  she  added,  with  a  sudden  rebound  into  her  natural 
gaiety.  '  I  would  not  have  you  think  it  was  all  teais  and  la- 
mentations yonder.  I  assure  you  we,  who  were  not  ati  secret, 
had  charming  httle  whist  parties,  delightful  conversation.  All 
the  best  society  of  Par's  is  there  ;  indeed,  it  is  only  in  the 
prisons  that  good  society  and  i-eal  conA-ersation  is  now  to  be 
found  !  Elsewhere  people  monologue  or  det;laim,  or  discuss 
pohtics  with  low-bied  vehemence ;  there  we  spoke  of  litera- 


154 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


tnre,  and  art,  and  news  v.'itliout  undue  excitement ;  it  was 
delightful  to  meet  once  more  with  good  manneis,  and  the  old 
coiirtesy  and  gaiety  of  ])eople  comme  il/aut.' 

'  Alas,  my  cousin,  I  fear  you  will  I'egiet  quitting  your 
captivity !  ' 

'  No,  not  quite  that,  De  Pelven ;  there  were  certainly 
drawbacks,  I  admit  that,  I  can  afford  to  admit  it  now. 
There — que  voulcz  vous !  had  one  begun  to  ginimble  one 
would  have  done  nothing  else.'  And  for  a  short  t'me  she 
was  silent,  resuming  with,  '  Do  you  know  I  comprehend,  as 
I  never  did  when  I  used  to  read  Eousseau  and  the  Encyclo- 
pedists and  dabble  in  ideal  reforms,  how  all  this  anarchy  has 
come  about  ?  Sometimes  I  really  think  we  deserve  all  we 
have  got,  though  it  is  an  awful  retribution,  and  falls  on  many 
innocent  people.  Ah,  the  sins  of  the  forefathers  .  .  .  truly 
they  are,  visited,  and  the  day  of  reckoning  has  come  in  our 
time.' 

'  You  are  a  greater  philosopher  than  I  knew,  my  cousin,* 
said  De  Pelven,  all  the  v/hile  considering  how  best  to  sur- 
prise what  she  knew  of  Edmee. 

'  I  will  tell  you  who  my  teacher  has  been — a  poor 
Hochellois,  a  Protestant  printer.  Of  coiuse  he  did  not  be- 
long to  any  of  oui-  sets, — there  is  a  most  democratic  mixtui'e 
in  the  Luxembourg,  but  they  fall  jiatuially  into  separate 
groups,  and  never  mingle.  People  of  his  own  rank  he  held 
aloof  from  ;  he  seemed  to  ha-\'e  done  with  the  woi-ld.  I 
noticed  the  man's  foce ;  he  had  a  strangely  still  and  hearb- 
broken  look  ;  did  not  speak  two  words  from  morning  till 
night,  and  read  a  little  old  black  book  which  he  had  managed 
to  smxiggle  in  with  him ;  I  thought  it  a  "  Livre  dTIeures," 
but  it  turned  out  to  be  a  Bible.     He  interested  me.' 

*  No  one  has  been  more  checkmated  by  the  course  of  the 
Hevolution  than  the  Protestants,'  said  De  Pelven,  with  a 
smile,  while  he  bided  his  time  to  introduce  the  subject  of 
Edmee.  '  The  poor  wietches  expected  liberty,  equality,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  catechism ;  the  democi-ats  held  oiit  theii- 
aims  to  them,  believing  them  prepared  to  go  all  lengths, 
made  one,  a  ceitain  Eabaut,  take  a  leading  part  in  the 
Assembly,  but  they  shipv/recked  themselves,  as  they  have 


UNCAGED.  155 

always  done,  by  their  obstinate  convictions,  and  one  fine  day 
they 'found  all"  their  "temples"  shut,  and  themselves  perse- 
cuted like  the  rest.' 

*  Yes,  they  have  convictions,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  too  much  occupied  with  her  subject  to  not  ce  the 
sneer.  '  It  was  strange  to  meet  such  liberty  of  thought 
with  such  deep  faith.  This  man  was  not  grieving  for  him- 
self, but  for  France.  "  I  had  dreamed  of  a  republic  such  as 
the  world  never  saw,"  he  said  to  me,  "  and  it  has  ended  in 
this ! "  ' 

'  The  first  part  of  his  remark  is  precisely  what  Robes- 
pierre said  to  me  yesterday,'  observed  De  Pelven  :  '  a  little 
■while  hence  he  will  conclude  as  your  printer  did.' 

'  Do  not  name  that  monster  in  the  same  breath  with  my 
poor  friend  !  It  all  sovmds  very  little  interesting  to  you,  but 
to  me  it  was  a  revelation.  Good  heavens  !  how  those  Hugue- 
nots have  suffered,  and  we  hardly  realised  their  existence ! 
Betrayed,  tortm-ed,  mmxlered,  all  in  tlie  name  of  God  and 
the  Church,  by  Christian  men, — their  pastors  hanged,  their 
gentry  beheaded,  their  children  forced  into  convents,  the 
galleys  awaiting  all  who  tried  to  escape— and  th's  conducted, 
urged  on  by  priests  !  AVe  are  in  the  midst  of  a  reign  of 
terror  now,  but  they  have  known  one  lasting  longer,  and 
more  base  in  its  injustice  than  even  this  !  And  when  the 
States  met  in  '89,  what  did  the  clergy  urge? — ' 

'  I  know  what  they  did  not  urge  ;  they  suggested  no  re- 
foi-ms  among  themselves,  and  did  not  at  all  desire  to  sacrifice 
any  of  their  levenues  to  lessen  the  national  debt.' 

'  Not  they  !  All  they  could  find  to  suggest  was  a  fresh 
edict  aga'rist  the  Protestants  ! ' 

'  Dear  cousin,  your  sojourn  in  the  Liixembourg  has  made 
a  heretic  of  you  ! ' 

'  No,  no,  I  never  pretended  to  be  a  fervent  Catliolic,  Init 
I  am  no  heretic,  thouTh  I  have  learned  a  few  thin-'s  lat'.'lyc 
At  all  events  you  grant  that  forcing  the  Huguenots  to 
emigrate  was  a  fatal  blunder  1  "We  have  lost  in  them  an 
educated  middle  clas:-;,  v.'ho  would  have  balanced  these 
visionary  fanatics.' 

'  Yes,  it  would  have  been  for  their  interest.' 


156  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  Very  "n-ell  !  there  is  no  sin  in  having  interest  and  duty 
sometimes  on  the  same  side.  And  it  seems  that  they  educate 
— these  Protestants  !  they  educate,  Tvhile  our  clergy  hold 
ignorance  the  only  safe  state  for  the  masses.  They  all  think 
what  young  Chateaubriand — you  recollect  him  1 — the  son  of 
the  Marquis  of  Comboiirg — once  said  to  me,  "  The  press  will 
destroy  the  old  world,"  but  unlike  him,  boy  as  he  was,  they 
have  not  the  sense  to  see  that  the  press  is  indestructible.  Ah, 
by-the-by,  I  met  in  the  Luxembourg  a  i-elation  of  his,  Madame 
de  Belveser,  of  whom  you  know  the  conversation  was  so 
witty  that  her  coixfessor  declai-ed  every  sin  she  told  him  of 
was  an  epigram.  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  met  so  many 
old  acquaintances.  But  now  we  are  tete-a-tete  in  a  fiacre, 
where  no  one  can  overhear,  tell  me  how  public  matters 
stand.' 

'  You  were  not  pei-haps  aware  that  you  had  Danton  as  a 
fellow-prisoner.' 

'  Danton  !  Then  his  was  the  voice  of  thunder  which  we 
heard  in  another  part  of  the  pa' ace.  Is  it  possible  ]  Eobes- 
pien-e  then  stands  pi-e-eminent  and  alone  1     What  will  he  do  ]  * 

De  Pelven  only  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Why,  v,-e  have  nearly  rim  through  all  possible  changes — 
Hoyalism,  Pveform,  the  Gironde,  the  Montague ;  what  re- 
mains ■?  ' 

'  The  worship  of  the  strongest.' 

'  Then  let  us  bow  to  Death,  cousin,  for  only  his  power 
remains  imshaken.' 

'  These  are  gloomy  thoughts,  dear  mademoiselle,  and  I  fear 
that  I  have  news  that  will  not  cheer  you.  That  poor  Edmee, 
the  day  aft«r  yoiu"  an-est  she  disappeared.' 

'  Ah,  to  be  si.u'3.  How  am  I  to  let  her  know  ?  But  it 
matteis  little ;  she  will  cei'tainly  learn  in  a  day  or  two,  and 
return  to  me.  Th°se  days  make  one  strangely  suspicious  and 
tm grateful,'  said  iSIa demoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  with  a  mi:stiu-e 
of  remorse  and  of  vexation  against  Balmat  for  having  misle'^' 
her  with  regard  to  De  Pelven. 

'  You  know  then  whei"e  she  is  1 ' 

'  Yes — no— that  is,  she  is  perfectly  safe,  but  he  never  hap- 
pened to  say  where  he  lives,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  me  to  ask. 


UXCAGED.  157 

One  has  to  be  so  cautions  since  the  charge  of  conspiring  in 
piison  has  been  devLsecL' 

'  She  is  then  with  the  Chevalier  ? '  asked  Pe  Pelven,  on 
whose  ear  the  masculine  pronoiin  which  had  escaped  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aiojnan  had  fallen  with  startling  effect. 

'  Mj  nephew  ?  Mais  non  !  he  is  not  in  Paris,  as  far  as  I 
know.     Surely  yon  hare  no  reason  to  think  so  s ' 

'  On  the  contrary,  but  with  whom  then  ? ' 

*  Ah,  that  I  mtist  not  say,  until  I  gain  peiTaission.  But 
you  will  not  have  long  to  wait.  I  imagine.  If  I  could  have 
foreseen  that  yon  would  deliver  me,  I  should  of  course  have 
never  given  a  piomise  of  silence.  She  is  with  friends — very 
safe  friends,  but  not  veiy  wise,  it  would  seem.  He  ceriainy 
has  once  lieen  sti"angely  mistaken.'  she  ad;led.  laying  her  hand 
on  De  Pehen's,  with  a  remoi'seful  gi-atitude  which  he  did  not 
at  all  undei"stand. 

'  My  dear  cousin,'  he  answered,  again  stung  by  that  un- 
welcome pronoun,  '  I  had  no  idea  that  you  had  any  friends 
in  Paris  but  myself.' 

'  It  was  a  surprise  to  me,  deai*  De  Pelven,  I  assiu"e  you.' 

'Allow  me  to  question  whether  you  indeed  have  any 
able  efficiently  to  protect  you  unless  it  is  I,  but  to  do  so  I 
must  know  all.  Recollect  how  slippeiy  the  gi'ound  we  walk 
on  is ! ' 

'  I  know  it — I  know  it.  Tliis  promise  is  unfortunate. 
But  tell  me,  did  vou  .  .  .  how  did  von  so  crreatlv  alarm  the 
child?' 

De  Pelven  perfectly  nndei-stood  what  she  meant,  and  that 
she  could  not  bring  hei-self  to  put  it  into  plain  words. 

'  She  misunderstood  me.  You  know  I  cannct  admit  that 
the  tie  you  spoke  of  is  more  than  a  legal  fiction  ;  it  is  univer- 
sally held  so ;  see  the  number  of  divorces  which  take  place 
eveiy  day !  Despairing  as  I  did  at  that  moment  for  you, 
doubting  whether  even  I  could  protect  her.  feeling  too  the 
position  of  a  gud  alone  in  Paiis  was  full  of  danger.  I  confess  to 
having  urged  her  to  accept  my  friend.' 

'Ah,  I  undei-stand,  and  the  foolish  child  imagined  ...  I 
see  it  all ! '  said  [Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aicnau.  bui-sting  into  a 
hearty  fit  of  laughter  ;  '  I  will  set  this  straight.  But  no  more 
of  your  fiiend,  my  cousin.     I  explained  my  sentiments  on 


158  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

that  point  before,  though  perhaps  the  situation  justified  you. 
If  Alain  could  hut  have  taken  her  when  he  was  in  Paris  !  .  .  . 
and  yet  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  do  witliout  her.  One 
grows  extraordinarily  fond  of  her ;  she  will  never  he  only  a 
little  loved.  To  you  I  daresay  she  seems  only  a  little  proviv- 
ciali ;  you  are  a  man  of  the  world,  u&el  to  beautiful  and  witty 
women,  but  I  assine  you  in  some  eyes  she  will  be  absolute'y 
lovely,  have  a  fascination  really  dangerous  !  It  is  jvist  one  of 
those  things  which  some  will  feel  to  their  hearts'  core,  while 
others  stand  wondering  what  they  see  to  bewitch  them.' 

'  You  are  no  doubt  right,  my  cousin.    See,  we  are  anuved.' 

*  Ah,  already !  I  wish  she  were  here  to  we'come  me ! 
The  poor  cliild,  she  does  not  know  that  I  am  fi  ee  ;  she  is  no 
doubt  grieving  for  me,  trembling  to  look  in  the  "  Moniteur  " 
lest  my  name  should  appear  in  the  death-list.' 

'  As  a  rule,  no  one  is  ever  doing  what  we  imagine,  dear 
mademoiselle,'  said  De  Pelven,  as  he  he'ped  her  to  alight. 
*  The  chances  therefore  are  that  Mademoiselle  Edmee  and  her 
companion  are  very  well  amused,  and  dining  together  at  some 
cafe.' 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  did  not  hear.  She  was  look- 
ing round  with  a  sort  of  curiosity,  and  nodding  with  good- 
humoured  triumph  to  Madame  Lafarge,  who  stood  at  her 
kitchen-door,  with  eyes  like  black  river-pools,  watching  her 
pass. 

'  There  is  one  who  hoped  never  to  see  me  again,'  remarked 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  as  they  toiled  up  the  long  flights 
of  staii-s.  '  What  a  coarse,  handsome  virago  it  is  !  Cousin, 
you  cannot  imagine  how  singular  the  sensation  is  of  return- 
ing here,  and  seeing  all  again  wliich  I  thought  I  had  quitted 
for  ever.  It  is  incredibly  difiicult  either  to  believe  that  I 
am  here,  or  that  this  morning  I  fully  expected  to  go  to  the 
guillotine.' 

And  she  passed  her  hand  over  her  hair.  '  I  have  been  so 
long  without  necessaries  that  I  shall  feel  the  retui-n  to  my 
possessions  luxiuy.  But  what  is  this  seal  on  the  cupboard 
and  boxes'?     One  would  say  it  was  made  Avith  a  button.' 

*  Very  probably ;  the  seal  of  the  nation  is  apt  to  be  m,"vde 
now-a-days  with  a  sou,  or  whatever  comes  first  to  hand.    At 


UNCAGED.  159 

first  it  was  a  mnch  more  formal  affair.  This  house  is  in  the 
section  Mutius  Scfevola :  T  will  look  to  all  this.  Where  is 
that  imbecile,  old  Lafarge  1  he  keeps  out  oi  t je  way  as  if  all 
were  not  right.  Is  it  safe?  the  wine  I  sent  you — is  it 
here?' 

'  How,  cousin  !  you  cannot  mean  that  the  virtuous  Eevo- 
lutionary  Committee  help  themselves  to  the  effects  of  the  poor 
citizen  whom  they  are  forced  to  arrest  1  fi  done !  what  vile 
and  unpatriotic  suspicions ! '  laughed  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan.  '  All  seems  safe,  and  we  may  venture  to  break  the 
national  seal  ?     I  think  I  can  reproduce  it  if  necessary.' 

If  it  had  not  been  for  the  mysterious  '  he '  who  so  unex- 
pectedly appeared  on  the  scene,  De  Pelven  would  have  felt 
that  he  was  again  master  of  the  situation.  Even  as  it  was, 
he  knew  that  in  the  retm-n  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  he 
had  recoveied  the  clue  to  Edmee's  movements,  but  he  taxed 
his  brain  in  vain  to  discover  who  could  have  told  her  of 
Alain's  presence  in  Paris,  or  how  she  could  have  had  news 
of  Edmee.  If  the  jailers  of  the  Luxemboiu-g  were  to  be 
trusted  on  these  points,  he  ought  to  have  had  information. 
That  no  one  but  himself  had  g\qv  visited  his  protefjees  in 
]\Iadame  Lafarge's  house  he  felt  cei-tain.  That  Edmee's  iiight 
was  unpremeditated  he  could  not  doubt,  and  it  was  evident 
that  only  some  hasty  jwomise  induced  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  to  keep  him  iu'the  dark.  Her  unsuspiciousness  was 
almost  the  most  perplexing  part  of  the  affair.  De  Pelven  was 
well  used  to  hold  the  threads  of  many  complicated  matters  in 
his  hands,  and  give  each  fall  and  minute  attention,  but  now 
his  head  was  far  from  cool,  his  judgment  was  troubled ;  ho 
had  never  before  been  influenced  by  a  strong  personal  interest. 
He  began  to  feel  with  great  irritation  that  he  could  not  ti  ust 
himself  or  free  his  mind  fiom  this  matter,  and  even  as  he  sat 
in  the  Palais  de  Justice,  listening  to  the  trial  of  Danton  and 
Camille  Desmoulins,  the  question  of  who  Edmee's  unknown 
protector  could  be  would  dart  micalled  into  his  mind,  and 
make  his  pulses  beat  faster  fir  than  the  thunders  of  Danton's 
voice,  or  even  those  parting  words  of  his  which  many  pre-^ent 
felt  to  be  prophetic,  '  1  diag  Eobesploiie  after  me  in  my  fall  I 


160  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

balmat's  conspiracy. 

If  no  man  can  bs  justly  called  poor  but  he  who  lacks  common- 
sense,  then  Balmat  had  no  right  to  be  so  counted,  though  he 
had  a  hard  fight  to  provide  his  daily  bread.  He  was  cautious 
and  slow,  but  he  possessed  a  calm  and  dispassionate  judgment, 
which  enabled  him  to  encounter  even  such  an  adversary  as 
De  Pelven,  especially  when  working  in  what  was  light  to 
him,  while  to  his  opponent  it  was  at  the  best  a  distracting 
twliight.  On  going  to  the  Luxembourg,  a  few  days  aftsr  the 
release  of  Mademo:s9lle  de  St.  Aignan,  he  was  encountered 
by  the  little  son  of  the  head  turnkey,  who  was  fond  of  hini, 
and  always  ran  to  demand  a  sketch  of  some  object  which  his 
childish  fancy  suggested,  whenever  Balmat  came.  The  young 
Swiss,  pai-tly  because  he  was  really  fond  of  childi-en,  and 
pai-tly  from  policy,  used  readily  to  gratify  the  child,  and  vras 
s.tting  in  the  turnkey's  own  room  on  the  rez  de  cJumssee, 
when  the  father  came  in,  holding  his  heavy  bunch  of  keys. 
'  No  more  visits  to  the  detenus  for  you,  citizen  Balmat,'  said 
he,  patting  his  little  son's  head  ;  '  ah  ha,  Marius,  make  the 
most  of  this  chance,  my  son.' 

'  How  so,  citizen  Gracchus  1 '  asked  Balmat,  his  heait 
beating  faster  with  the  fear  that  his  having  been  a  medium 
of  communicafon  between  the  prisoners  and  the  outer  world 
had  been  discovered. 

'  We  have  orders  to  redouble  our  vigilance,  to  exclude  all 
newspapei-s,  and  let  no  one  in,  unless  indesd  as  a  prisoner, 
and  you  have  no  great  desire  to  enter  on  those  term-,,  I 
imagine"?  We  have  had  tv/o  ex-marquises,  a  count,  a  couple 
of  abbes,  and  a  pair  of  fine  ladies,  all  brought  here  this  morning 
in  one  fiacre  !  One  of  the  ladies  comp'.ainei  of  a  mijrahi?; 
wo  told  her  we  had  a  sure  cure  for  headache  here,'  said  the 
turnkey,  with  a  laugh,  and  an  expressive  movement  of  the 
hand  across  his  throat.  '  You  would  have  thought  she  was 
soin"  to  faint !     There  will  be  hot  work  now  Camille  and 


BALMATS  CONSPIRACY.  161 

Danton  are  disposed  of.     Do  you  miss  no  one  here '?     Eonoit 
ha'!  been  an-ested.' 

'  Benoit  ' '  exclaimed  Balmat,  dropping  his  crayon. 

Benoit  was  the  concierge  of  the  Lirxembourg,  an  old 
man  who  had  from  the  first  shown  as  much  mildness  and 
compassion  to  the  prisoners  as  he  dared,  and  foi'med  a  strong 
contrast  to  most  officials  in  the  prisons. 

'  On  what  chai-ge  1 '  added  Balmat,  taking  the  crayon  fr'om 
the  impatient  Marius,  to  whom  the  Garde  Rationale  whom 
the  Swiss  was  sketching  seemed  much  moie  impoi-tant  than 
Benoit's  history. 

'  For  hiding  some  money  at  the  request  of  a  detenu  ;  it 
was  not  the  fact,  for  he  had  sent  word  to  the  Public  Accuser 
that  he  had  this  sum,  belonging  to  such  a  one,  newly  guil- 
lotmed,  in  charge.  But  Lenain,  he  who  denounced  him,  you 
undei'stand,  hoped  to  get  released  by  making  up  this  charge ; 
howevei',  all  that  came  of  it  is  that  Lenain  stays  in  prison,  and 
Benoit  is  arrested,  and  the  seals  put  on  all  his  possessions.' 

'  Who  is  to  i-eplace  him  1  '  asked  Balmat,  after  a  short 
silence.  Both  the  men  knew  each  other's  feelings  perfectly, 
but  so  general  was  the  mistrust  engendered  by  the  times  that 
neither  would  admit  them  to  the  other. 

'  Well — they  say  Couthon  means  to  send  us  Guiard,' 
answered  the  turnkey',  imable  to  refrain  fi-om  making  a 
grimace,  as  he  named  the  infamous  concierge  of  a  prison  at 
Lyons. 

Balmat  began  another  drawing  for  little  Marius,  and  said, 
'  There  is  one  portrait  I  should  have  liked  to  add  to  my 
collection ;  it  is  a  handsome  head,  and  would  have  pleased 
the  citizen  Lebon  ;  that  woman  in  the  entresol  which  used  to 
be  a  hayloft.' 

'  As  for  that  you  ai-e  too  late  for  the  market.' 

'  How  too  late  1 '  asked  Balmat,  hastily. 

'  No,  not  that  way,'  answered  the  turnkey,  with  a  laugh, 
and  the  same  gesture  which  he  bad  used  before  to  comijlete 
his  meaning.  '  She  must  have  powerful  friends,  that  ci-devant. 
A  fellow  who  looked  a  true  cl-dcvrint  himse'f,  if  ever  I  saw 
one — and  I  have  seen  a  good  many,  you  must  allow,  in  these 
last  two  years,  came  here  one  moi-ning  lately,  with  a  waiTant 


1Q2  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

of  release  in  due  form  in  his  hand,  and  though  we  all  had  a 
look  at  it  we  could  find  nothing  amiss,  and  she  had  to  be  set 
free.  Strange,  is  it  not  1  She  is  in  luck,  the  hrigande,  for 
we  are  gouig  to  have  shai-p  work,  very  sharp,  they  say  ;  the 
vu'tuous  RobespieiTe  keeps  us  at  it.' 

The  next  three  paonths  were  fidly  to  bear  out  what 
citizen  Gracchus  predicted.  Balmat  gave  the  sketch  of  a 
mounted  soldier  which  he  had  just  completed  to  the  little 
lad,  and  stroked  his  black  curls. 

'  So  then,  I  must  say  good-bye  to  you,  my  boy,  I  am 
sorry  ;  no  one  likes  my  pictures  so  well  as  you  ! ' 

'  My  father  shall  shut  you  up  with  the  others,  and  then 
you  can  di^aw  for  me  all  day  long,'  suggested  the  child. 

'  What  do  you  say  to  that  plan,  citizen  1 '  laughed  the 
timikey.  '  Listen,  my  son,  thou  must  keep  all  these  draw- 
ings, and  some  day  thy  good  friend  will  be  a  gi'eat  painter, 
and  then  thou  wilt  say,  "  These  the  famous  Balmat  did  for 
me  when  I  was  a  boy ;  "  dost  thou  hear  1 ' 

He  spoke  in  jest,  but  without  intention  of  mocking  Balmat, 
on  whose  face,  however,  there  came  a  c'oud  of  pain.  '  Fare- 
well, my  little  Marius ;  farewell,  citizen  Gracchus,'  he  said, 
gathering  his  crayons  up. 

'  Good  morning,  friend ;  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness 
to  the  lad.  He  has  fine  times  of  it ;  the  women  prisoners 
all  pet  and  spoil  him  when  I  let  him  run  among  them ;  you 
see  many  of  them  are  mothers,  and  mothers  are  the  same  all 
the  world  over,  it  seems,  even  if  they  ai^e  aristocrats.' 

Balmat  tied  up  his  portfolio,  and  walked  out  of  the 
Luxembourg,  while  the  hoarse  voice  of  a  newsvendor  shouted 
under  the  walls,  '  List  of  sixty  or  eighty  winners  in  the 
lottery  of  the  holy  guillotine  ! '  No  wistful  faces  crowded 
to  the  windows  to-day ;  the  prisoners  had  been  shut  up  in 
theii-  rooms,  and  forbidden  to  look  out  under  pain  of  losing 
the  few  privileges  allowed  them.  Balmat  could  but  be  re- 
lieved that  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was  out  of  siich  evil 
days  as  were  evidently  at  hand,  but  her  release  was  un- 
qviestionably  due  to  De  Pelven,  and  Balmat  was  asking 
himself  what  the  motive  coidd  have  been.  Too  few  knew 
De  Pelven  intimately  for  Balmat  to  have  succeeded  in  learning 


BALMAT'S  CONSPIRACT.  163 

much  about  him,  but  among  David's  pupils  were  many- 
violent  young  Republicans,  and  one,  a  close  friend  of  Camille 
Desmoulins,  and  just  now  consequently  in  no  small  danger, 
had  heard  and  seen  enough  of  De  Pelven  to  show  Balmat 
that  he  had  to  deal  with  a  dark  and  subtle  schemer,  scarcely 
to  be  intiuenced  by  tenderness  or  remorse.  If,  therefore,  he 
had  obtained  the  freedom  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  it 
was  with  some  ulterioi-  motive,  probably  regarding  Edmee. 
To  see  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  undiscovered  and  quickly, 
and  m-ge  silence  and  secresy  on  her  was  Balmat's  first  thought ; 
but  his  plan  developed  as  he  reflected ;  and  after  he  had 
taken  counsel  with  Edmee,  and  a  madcap  friend  of  his, 
another  fellow-pupil  in  David's  atelier,  of  opposit3  opinions 
to  almost  all  the  rest,  who  even  in  these  times  scarcely  con- 
cealed his  ultra-Royalist  opinions,  later  became  a  '  muscadin 
a  cadenettes,'  and  for  the  p'easuie  of  a  prank,  especially  if 
spiced  by  the  chance  of  outwitting  a  Jacobin,  would  any  day 
have  been  charmed  to  risk  his  head. 

That  Edmee  should  return  to  the  Lafai'ge  house  was  out 
of  the  ([uestion  ;  that  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  shoidd  hold 
herself  indefinitely  bound  to  secresy  was  not  to  be  hoped. 
Balmat  felt  hurried  along  much  faster  than  he  liked  ;  if  any- 
thing were  to  be  done  it  must  be  attempted  at  once,  and  if 
jwssible  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  must  be  ti-ansferred  to 
the  Maison  Cx-ocq ;  but  this  p^au  appeared  so  beset  witli  difii- 
culties  that  neither  the  slow,  Swiss  mind  of  Balmat,  nor  the 
readier  one  of  Edmee,  spurred  though  it  was  by  longing  to  see 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  again,  and  by  the  fear  of  falling 
afresh  into  De  Pelven's  power,  could  devise  any  hopeful 
scheme.  Balmat  and  Edmee  had  become  veiy  like  bi-other 
and  sister  in  these  perilous  days,  she  clinging  to  him  as  her 
only  stay  and  counselloi",  and  he  full  of  kindly  pity  and  liking 
for  the  girl  thus  tlii'own  on  his  hands.  They  called  their  land- 
lady into  council,  but  though  generously  ready  to  take  her 
share  of  danger,  she  could  suggest  nothing. 

'  Do  what  you  will,  my  children,'  sa!d  she,  looking  at  them 
benevolently,  '  I  am  a  Repidjlican,  as  you  know,  but  as  long 
as  I  live  I  will  do  my  best  to  save  the  unfoi'tunate,  no  matter 
what  coloui's  they  wear,  white  or  tri-coloixr,  it  is  all  one  to 


1G4  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

IMadelon  Crocq.  Only  do  not  fail,  that  would  be  unpardon- 
al)Ie,'  and  tliei'ewitli  she  left  them,  and  they  heard  her  vehe- 
menently  .scolding  her  liusl)and  below,  a  thing  so  nnusiial, 
though  he  constantly  deserved  it,  that  it  turned  their  thoughts 
for  a  moment  fiom  their  own  concerns,  but  they  soon  began 
again  to  discuss  what  was  to  be  done. 

'  We  must  not  fail ;  Madelon  is  quite  i-ight ;  it  would  cost 
all  our  heads,'  Balmat  said. 

'Ah,  how  mucli  you  are  i-isking  for  strangers  ! '  said  Edmee. 

*  Ah,  bah  ! '  was  all  Balmat's  I'eply,  '  what  are  we  in  the 
world  for  but  to  help  one  another?  I  will  go  and  ta^k  to  my 
friend  Isnavd ;  he  has  ideas,  he  will  suggest  something,  and 
pei-haps  the  more  audacious  the  better.' 

Edmee  stood  alone  for  awhile  at  the  window  of  the  room 
which  she  i-ented  in  this  house.  She  had  had  no  heai-t  to  make 
it  comfortable,  and  as  yet  realised  too  little  the  hope  of  seeing 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  in  it  to  trouble  herself  about  its 
discomfort.  All  her  youth  had  passed  under  the  influence  of 
feai',  and  no  later  experiences  would  eftace  the  effects  of  those 
early  impi-essions.  As  she  stood  thinking  thoughts  which 
soon  became  prayers,  she  dared  not  ask  that  Balmat  might 
succeed  ;  she  only  murmured  a  petition  that  they  might  bo 
enabled  to  bear  all  the  pains  Avhich  God  might  be  pleased  that 
day  to  send  them.  There  were  not  many  sounds  now  in  the 
house  to  dLsti-act  her  thoughts.  On  the  same  floor  lived  a 
husband  and  wife  A\-ith  several  children,  who  seemed  very 
poor ;  the  man  had  been  a  painter  of  armorial  bearings,  and 
was  of  course  thrown  out  of  employment  very  early  in  the 
Revolution ;  the  wife  had  worked  in  a  lace-factory,  but  no 
less  than  twelve  were  now  closed,  for  a  fatal  blow  had  been 
struck  at  the  lace-workers  all  unconsciously  even  befoie  Re- 
publican austerity  of  costume  became  fiist  fashionable  and  then 
prudential,  when  Marie  Anto'nette  inti-oduced  simplicity  and 
Indian  muslin  instead  of  point.  Edmee  knew  by  experience 
that  some  people  wore  lace  still,  for  she  had  eained  a  little 
money  by  selling  and  mending  it,  but,  as  a  trade,  lace-making 
was  dead.  She  wondeied  sometimes  how  these  people  con- 
trived to  live,  bu.t  saw  nothing  of  them,  unless  they  chanced 
to  meet  on  the  stairs,  though  she  had  often  watched  the  chil- 


BALM  AT  8  CONSPIRACY.  165 

dren  playing  among  the  gi-ass  in  tlie  cemetery,  on  which  her 
window  looked  out.  They  were  there  now.  The  pale-faced 
eldest  gild  was  amusing  two  little  ones ;  Edmee  saw  her  pick 
a  dandelion-head,  and  make  the  youngest  blovv'  away  the  fluffy 
seeds.  '  Count  how  many  yeai'S  it  will  be  before  thou  ai-t 
married,  Mariette,'  Edmee  could  hear  her  say,  and  then  the 
little  sister  blew  like  an  infant  ^Eolus,  and  all  the  light  see'Js 
floated  abi'oad  over  the  bioken  tombs.  '  But  I  shall  not  marry 
at  all  then  ! '  the  yoimger  said,  with  a  face  of  the  deepest  dis- 
appointment. Edmee's  attention  was  called  av/ay  fi-om  them 
by  the  entrance  of  Madelon  Ci-ocq,  whose  homely  face  looked 
hot  and  indignant,  and  her  Auvergnate  head-dresg  was  all 
awry.  She  gave  it  a  vigoious  pull  into  its  place,  by  way  of 
working  off"  her  excitement. 

'  Excuse  me,  citoyenne,'  said  she,  *  that  I  went  away  in  a 
hurry,  without  hearing  what  that  good  Balmat  counted  on 
doing.  Ah,  you  do  not  yet  know  %  Good  ;  he  is  wise,  that 
young  man,  he  reflects  ;  there  are  not  many  like  him.  What 
a  pity  he  is  a  Protestant,  but  what  would  one  have  ! — every- 
one has  some  fault.  You  do  not  ask  why  I  went  away  so 
suddenly  '\ ' 

'  I  thought  that  Georges  had  come  in  and  wanted  his 
dinner.' 

'  Georges — no — .'  Georges  was  Madelon's  nephew,  a  broad- 
shouldered  fellow,  with  a  beard  and  long  haii',  who  was  a  fa- 
vourite model  in  David's  atelier,  for  a  Hercules,  a  Jupitei-.  or 
a  gladiator,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  who  otherwise  gained 
his  living  as  porter  on  the  quais.  '  He  knows  how  to  tako 
care  of  himself. — I  blush  to  tell  you  ...  I  heai-d  my  husband 
down  belov/,  and  wanted  to  speak  to  him ;  wliat  do  I  see  !  he 
wears  his  working  dress,  he  has  his  tools  out,  as  if  it  were  not 
the  blessed  Sunday.  I  exclaim ;  he  replies  that  thei-e  is  no 
Sunday  now,  the  Convention  have  decreed  this  long  while  that 
we  shall  only  observe  Decadi,  a  feast  of  man's  making.  I 
reply,  "  Good,  I  am  no  Royalist,  as  thou  knowest ;  I  Ij^hyq  fait 
for  myself  how  the  nobles  oppress  the  poor  and  eat  oiu-  heai'ts, 
but  I  am  a  Christian,  and  as  long  as  we  li^■e  together  thou 
wilt  wear  thy  best  coat  on  the  Sunday,  and  do  no  work. 
Amij.;e  thyself,  if  thon  wilt,  but  work,  no,  and  speak  not  to 


166  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Madelon  Crocq  of  thy  Decadis  !  "  So  he  had  to  put  his  cob- 
bling away,  and  I  paid  no  attention  to  his  grumbling,  bnt  lit 
his  pipe,  and  gave  him  half  a  bottle  of  wine.  I  let  him  wear 
a  hideoiis  i-ed  and  bine  cravat,  as  you  know,  and  he  is  welcome 
to  grow  the  biggest  pair  of  whiskers  he  can,  but  work  on 
Sunday,  no  ! ' 

'  He  will  not  object  to  my  aunt's  coming  here,  dear  Ma- 
delon  1 '  asked  Edmee,  aware  tliat  when  Crocq  came  home 
from  the  cafe,  having  drunk  much  more  than  was  good  for 
him,  he  would  declare  that  his  wife  wanted  to  have  him  guil- 
lotined, and  must  get  rid  of  her  lodger  on  the  second  floor. 

'  Object  ...  it  may  be,  but  after  all  it  is  my  house  ;  I 
bought  it  with  my  own  savings,  for  as  for  him  he  never  had 
the  gift  of  economy,  and  if  I  choose,  she  shall  come.  His  ob- 
jections are  the  least  of  my  cares.' 

'  You,  a  Republican,  venture  so  much  for  strangers  and 
Royalists  ! ' 

'  See  then,  my  pretty  one,'  said  Madelon,  knitting  fast  as 
she  spoke,  '  all  Republicans  are  not  like  the  black  monsters 
who  sit  in  the  Convention,  think  not  that.  A  Republican  ! 
yes — if  you  had  lived  in  my  village,  and  seen  how  many  died 
of  hunger  eveiy  year,  yet  dai'cd  not  touch  a  head  of  the  game 
which  devoured  our  little  fields,  where  we  had  sowed  our  sav- 
ings and  our  hearts,  see  you,  foi-  one  loves  one's  bit  of  ground 
like  one's  life, — how  we  dared  not  weed  this  crop  lest  we 
should  disturb  the  young  parti-idges,  nor  grow  coi-n  on  that 
gi-ound  because  there  the  convent  cows  had  grazing-right — if 
yo\i  Ivnew  how  all  was  taxed  and  tolled,  at  feiiy  and  market, 
and  at  every  turn — ah,  and  how  no  one  cared  for  us,  whether 
we  lived  or  died,  and  what  a  bad  seigneur  could  do,  and  did 
do,  thou  wouldest  understand  better  why  I  am  against  the 
nobles.  God  never  made  one  man  ex^iressly  that  he  nught 
tiample  on  another  ! ' 

'  But  He  made  rich  and  poor,  and  I  do  not  see  that  any- 
one is  better  ofi'  now  ! ' 

'  Wait,  my  little  one,  wait.  Winter  must  come  before 
spring ;  are  we  to  set  right  all  that  is  come  and  gone  wi-ong 
with  gloved  hands  1  Ah,  I  have  wept  for  the  King,  and  though 
Marie  Antoinette  did  us  much  harm,  and  would  have  brought 


BALMAT'8  CONSPlltAC'Y.  167 

foreign  troops  upon  us,  I  wept  for  her  too,  but  all  are  mad 
now  ;  we  must  have  patience  and  wait.' 

'  They  did  not  wish  for  change  in  my  village,  till  it  was 
put  into  their  heads,'  persisted  Edmee. 

'  Pei'haps  they  were  too  downtrodden  to  feel  that  they 
were  trampled  on  ;  I  have  seen  that  too,'  said  Madelon,  with 
so  stern  a  look  that  Edm6e  recoiled,  startled,  and  turned 
away  with  a  sort  of  aversion.  Each  was  speaking  from 
personal  feeling  ;  they  could  not  sympathise,  but  the  woman, 
who  yet  had  suffered  tenfold  moi-e  than  Edmee,  was  more 
ready  to  make  allowances  than  the  girl,  whom  she  fully 
believed  a  born  aristocrat.  '  Poor  little  thing  !  '  she  continued, 
with  I'ougli  tenderness  ;  '  how  should  you  feel  what  I  do,  you 
who  are  under  foot  now,  and  know  nothing  of  what  we  have 
been  bearing  time  out  of  mind  ;  but  we  are  not  all  Hel:)prts 
and  Marats,  va  !  Thou  knowest  I  bear  no  malice  to  the 
aiistocrats,  though  my  uncle  was  hung  for  being  a  contrehan- 
dier  en  saulnage,  and  my  father  was  ruined  because  he  ti-ied 
to  have  jiistice  on  an  employe  of  the  Government,  who  took 
his  horse  by  foi-ce.  What  was  the  consequence  ?  the  answer 
came  down  from  Paris,  as  we  chanced  to  leai'n,  "  Tlie 
employe  was  wrong,  but  quash  the  suit ;  it  will  not  do  to 
allow  that  a  Government  official  can  be  called  to  account." ' 

But  to  Edmee  the  wrongs  of  those  with  whom  she  had 
cast  in  her  lot  were  too  keenly  present  to  allow  for  the  feel- 
ings of  those  who  had  the  oppression  of  centuries  to  revenge. 
She  was  spai'ed  the  necessity  of  an  answer  by  the  entrance  of 
Balmat,  whom  neither  at  first  knew,  so  changed  was  he  by  the 
costume  of  a  Garde  Nationale  which  he  had  assumed.  Pie 
was  a  little  embai-rassed  by  their  laughter  and  exclamations, 
and  explained  his  plan  very  brielly ;  it  had  been  suggested 
by  his  friend,  who  had  immediately  proposed  to  cany  off 
Mademoiselle  de  8t.  Aignan  by  a  feigned  arrest,  and  urgently 
desired  to  do  so  himself.  This  Balmat  would  not  allow,  but 
he  thought  the  plan  good,  borrowed  tlie  uniform  from  an 
acquaintance  who  did  not  trouljle  himself  to  ask  why  it  was 
required,  and  came  back  to  tell  Edmee  that  he  was  about  to 
go  to  the  Maison  Lafarge  at  once,  siace  from  what  she  had 
told  him  it  was  an  \inlikely  hour  for  De  Pelven  tq  be  there. 


168  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Isnard,  he  added,  was  resolved  to  have  a  hand  in  it,  and  had 
somewhere  found  an  obliging  coachman,  who  ]^:lA  lent  him  a 
fiacre,  which  he  insisted  on  driving  to  fetch  Mademoisolle  do 
St.  Aignan  in.  They  were  gi-ave  enough  when  they  under- 
stood that  the  attempt  was  to  l>e  made  at  once.  Its  failure 
would  be  fatal  to  all  concerned,  but  Edmee  could  only  sit  and 
endure  tlje  suspense  as  best  she  might. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN   EXCHANGE   OF    PRISONERS. 


Balmat  found  his  friend  Isnai'd  on  the  box  of  a  tumble-doAvn 
oVd  fiacre,  disguised  to  perfection  as  a  coachman.  His  talent 
for  acting,  and  his  powers  of  looking  like  anyone  but  himself, 
had  more  than  once  saved  his  life  in  these  dangerous  days  ; 
he  had  not  only  deceived  those  sent  to  arrest  him  into  Ijp- 
lieving  that  the  man  before  them  was  not  he  whom  they 
sought,  but  had  assumed  the  character  now  of  one,  now  of 
another  well-known  p^^triot  with  such  success  that  his  sayings 
and  doings  had  been  quoted  as  theirs  by  no  means  always  to 
their  satisfaction.  When  he  appeared  in  his  natural  cha- 
racter his  mobile,  plastic  featui'es  were  of  a  delicate  and 
rather  distinguished  type,  not  uncommon  in.  Western  France. 
Balmat  thought  him  a  hare-brained,  light-hearted  scapegTace. 
He  had  not  fathomed  Isnard,  nor  indeed  was  it  in  his  nature 
to  understand  the  capacities  for  revenge,  the  deadly  vin- 
dictiveness  lying  deep  under  the  surface.  '  Make  haste 
then ! '  he  heard  him  say  in  a  quick,  low  voice,  when  Balmat 
came  out  of  the  Maison  Crocq  ;  '  we  shall  have  hai-d  work  to 
get  back  ;  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoiae  is  moving  ! ' 

Balmat  jumped  iuto  t\ie  fiacre,  and  as  they  drove  along 
he  saw  sigTis  which  showed  that  Isnard  was  right ;  an  un- 
usual stu-  prevailed  ;  heads  clustered  at  the  wmdows,  groups 
stood  at  every  street^^corner,  looking  up  and  down ;  women 
canae  to  their  doors,  and  answered  to  Isnard's  call  of  enquuy 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  PRISONERS.  1^9 

to  know  what  was  on  foot,  that  they  were  '  waiting  to  see 
the  insurrection  pass,'  and  all  along  the  Rue  St.  Honore  and 
the  Palais  Royal  the  shopkeepers  were  hastily  closing  their 
shutters,  and  barricacUug  their  doors ;  every  salon  and  cafe 
was  shut,  while  under  the  lime-trees  in  the  garden  cannon 
were  ranged,  and  a  great  number  of  armed  men  stood  con- 
sulting. Isnard  looked  back  through  the  open  window 
behind  him  as  he  drove  on  fast,  and  said,  '  There  will  be  fine 
plundering  theie  for  the  fauboui-g ! '  and  Balmat,  a  watch- 
makei-'s  son,  could  not  but  mentally  calculate  how  much  ruin 
would  shortly  be  wrought  among  the  clocks,  watches,  orna- 
ments, and  jewels  which  filled  the  gay  shops  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  loiown  since  the  Revolution  took  possession  of  it  as 
Palais  Egalite,  if  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  indeed  poured 
out  its  fierce  and  starving  myriads  to  attack  them. 

Already  the  tramp  of  innumerable  feet,  the  deep  hum  of 
approaching  voices,  sometimes  rising  into  a  hoarse  roar,  the 
dull  and  heavy  vibration  of  cannon  dragged  along  the  boule- 
vards and  quais,  and  occasional  bvirsts  of  the  '  Marseillaise,' 
sung  by  a  thousand  voices,  were  heard  in  the  distance.  The 
Palais  Royal,  unable  to  divine  the  cause  of  this  onslaught, 
only  by  chance  learning  its  danger,  closed  its  barricades  with 
the  speed  of  terror,  and  prepared  for  battle.  Paris  was  all  at 
once,  without  any  warning  whatever,  on  the  brink  of  a  civil 
war,  which,  once  kindled,  must  spread  from  street  to  street 
and  house  to  house,  until  litei  ally  quenched  in  blood  ;  and  so 
sudden,  so  unexpected  was  the  situation  that  no  one  had  even 
informed  the  Convention,  sitting  in  debate  on  national  affairs 
in  a  hall  of  the  Tuileries,  unconscious  of  what  was  liappening 
close  by.  At  another  time  Ealmat  would  have  got  out  of 
the  way  as  fast  as  possible,  and  Isnard  have  plunged  into  the 
thickest  of  the  combat,  but  both  were  now  fully  occupied 
with  the  enterprise  on  hand,  and  chiefly  desired  to  get  back 
to  the  IMaison  Crocq  while  it  was  possible.  They  drove  un- 
molested past  the  threatened  quarter,  for  the  streets  here  were 
perfectly  empty,  the  besiegers  not  yet  arrived,  the  besieged 
behind  their  entrenchments.  There  was  something  very 
strange  and  ominous  in  this  pause  and  livisli,  while  the  air 
was  full  of  an  electric  thrill  of  coming  danger,  and  distant 


170  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

sounds  told  of  the  gathering  storm.  To  return  through  those 
street?  half-an-hour  later  would  be  a  difficult  thing  indeed. 

'  Hark  !  They  have  a  mind  to  spare  the  national  razor  a 
little  work,'  said  Isnard,  turning  his  head  again  to  speak  to 
Balmat,  '  all  the  city  will  he  in  a  blare  before  we  get  back. 
But  what  can  have  put  the  match  ! '  and  as  Balmat  made  no 
answer,  quite  unable  to  divine  how  the  patriotic  Palais  Boyal, 
with  its  Girondist  Cafe  de  Chartres  and  its  Dantonist  Cafe 
de  Foy,  could  have  offended,  he  added,  '  "We  shall  never  be 
able  to  drive  back.  If  we  get  her  I  shall  go  as  near  to  the 
Passage  de  I'Orme  as  I  can  ;  then  you  must  take  her  on  foot. 
I  will  look  after  the^acre.' 

'  If  I  can  do  nothing  else  I  will  take  her  to  the  cloister  of 
the  Augusthis,'  said  Balmat,  who,  for  want  of  a  better  place, 
had  made  himself  a  rude  studio  in  the  cloister  of  the  desecrated 
church,  and  his  fi'iend  nodded  and  urged  on  his  horse.  The 
excitement  had  not  yet  readied  the  by-street  where  wq,s  the 
]\Iaison  Lafarge,  though  already  the  whole  population  of  the 
Faubom\g  St.  Antoine  was  pouring  down  the  Rue  des  Droits 
do  I'Homme  and  the  adjacent  streets,  armed  with  bayonets 
and  sabres,  pikes,  clubs,  hatchets,  and  guns ;  old  and  young 
pressing  on  together,  unifoi'ms  mingled  with  ragged  car- 
magnoles, women  carrying  their  infants,  or  dragging  along 
older  children  clinging  to  their  skirts,  a  gaunt,  fierce,  hollow- 
eyed,  and  terrible  throng,  pouring  out  of  cellars  and  garrets, 
and  workshops,  ready  for  fire  and  massacre,  yet  moving  on 
with  that  instinct  of  order  which  characteri.'-:ed  all  these 
popular  outbreaks,  and  betrayed  that  they  were  guided  by 
unseen,  powerful  hands.  From  every  stieet  recruits  rushed 
to  swell  the  advancing  coliunns,  and  weie  welcomed  with  a 
thunder  of  acclamations  and  a  new  raising  of  the  '  INIar.seil- 
laise.'  The  besieged  in  the  Palais  Royal  saw  the  first  of  the 
insurgent  bands  appear,  headed  by  its  banners,  at  the  same 
moment  that  Balmat  was  knocking  at  the  Lafargo  hoiise 
door,  which  old  Lafarge  timidly  opened,  and  followed  him  as 
he  mounted  the  stairs  as  rapidly  as  he  covdd,  glad  that 
Theroigne  had  not  admitted  him.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
was  sitting  alone,  missing  Edmee  exceedingly,  and  very  near 
regretting  in  earnest  that  gay  and  brilliant  company  in  the 


AN  EXCHANGE  OF  PRISONERS.  171 

LuxemlDOUi^o-  which  had  transported  thither  the  lively  wit 
and  the  leckless  immorality  of  the  many,  together  with  the 
deep  piety  and  resignation  of  the  few.  8he  did  not  at  first 
recognise  Balmat,  and  he  had  tiine  to  make  lier  a  sign  which 
she  understood,  while  saying  in  an  official  tone,  '  Here  is  a 
mandate  of  arrest ;  you  will  follow  me  at  once.' 

'  Willingly,'  she  answered,  rising  up  with  a  smile,  and 
seeing  that  all  enquiries  must  wait.  '  May  I  take  any  of  my 
property  *? ' 

'  What  you  will,  so  long  as  you  do  it  in  five  minutes. 
You,  citi;en,  will  be  answerable  for  the  rest,'  Balmat  added 
to  Lafarge  ;  and  then  as  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  old  man's 
attention  might  be  happily  employed  by  something  to  his  own 
advantage — '  there  seems  to  be  wine  and  food  in  that  cup- 
board ;  you  aie  at  liberty  to  make  use  of  it.' 

'  Ah,  the  Eepublic  is  a  good  mother  ! '  ansv.-ered  Lafarge, 
delighted,  and  he  tottered  to  the  cupboard  to  count  the  wine 
bottles,  while  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  made  up  a  bundle 
in  such  haste  that  she  afterwards  found  more  muslin  kerchiefs 
and  lace  caps  in  it  than  anything  else,  whi'e  Balmat,  seeing 
Edmea's  lace-cushion  and  paint-box,  quietly  took  possession 
of  them.  '  Now  your  papers  ;  they  will  be  required,'  he  said, 
and  led  the  way  downstairs,  followed  by  his  wondering  cap- 
tive, while  old  Lafarge  sat  down  on  the  sofix,  tenderly  contem- 
plating first  the  contents  of  the  cvipboard,  whose  doors  he  had 
left  open,  and  then  the  arm-chair,  from  whose  use  he  had  been 
debaned  since  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  returned.  '  She 
may,  however,  come  back  ;  she  has  once  ! '  he  said  presently, 
his  face  of  satisfaction  falling.  '  Perhaps  I  had  better  take  it 
to  my  own  i-oom  ...  if  she  should  leturn  I  can  say  it  was 
wanted  for  the  service  of  the  nation  ; '  and  by-and-by  he  put 
the  plan  into  execution,  conveying  the  heavy  arm-chair  down 
the  successive  flights  of  stairs,  like  a  feeble  and  aged  ant, 
which  has  undertaken  to  di'ag  home  a  burden  far  beyond  its 
strength,  but  by  dint  of  perseverance  succeeds  at  last. 

As  Balmat  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  reached  the 
passage  leading  to  the  street-door,  Thei-oigne  rushed  out  upon 
them  from  some  distant  room,  for  the  first  time  aware  of  what 


172  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

was  going  on.  Balmat  felt  her  black  eyes  upon  him,  and 
grew  very  uncomfortable,  though  his  stolid  countenance  toM 
noth'ngof  it,  and  he  ansYvered  her  hasty  questions  composedly 
enough. 

'  You  are  no  Frenchman  ! '  cried  she,  with  angry  suspicion, 
*  you  speak  like  a  foreigner,  you  are  a  spy  of  Pitt  and  Cobourg, 
in  league  with  this  scHerate  .  .  .  your  accent  betrays  you  ! ' 

'  Everyone  has  not  the  advantage  of  being  a  born  Parisian, 
like  you,  citoyenne,'  replied  Balmat,  taking  hold  of  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aiguan,  and  trying  to  get  past;  '  move  a  little,  I 
pray  you ;  I  am  in  haste.' 

'  See,  madame,  there  is  some  mistake,  is  it  not  so  ?  I 
cannot  surely  be  arrested  again,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  hoping  to  disarm  her  suspicion  by  seeming  reluctant 
to  go.  Theroigne  only  cast  a  fierce  and  contemptuous  glance 
on  her,  and  turned  again  on  Balmat. 

'Show  me  your  order,  scoundrelly  traitor!'  she  cried, 
with  a  gesture  antl  attitude  which  was  wasted  on  the  phleg- 
matic Swiss,  who  held  out  in  .silence  a  warrant  correct  enough 
to  have  deceived  a  more  experienced  eye  than  that  of 
Theroigne,  for  Isnard  had  foreseen  this  possibility,  and  drawn 
it  up  in  due  form.  Heading  plainer  handwriting  than  his 
would  have  been  a  difiicu.ty  to  Theroigne,  who  studied  it  with  . 
anger  and  doubt  increased  by  the  effort  of  deciphering  it.  'I 
have  seen  one  before,  and  that  had  some  printing  on  it ;  this 
is  aU  pattes  de  motiche  !  '  said  she,  barring  the  way. 

'  Probably  all  the  printed  ones  we:  e  used  up,'  suggested 
Balmat,  g'ad  to  see  Isnard  look  in,  with  an  impatient  call. 
'  'Tis  not  I  who  detain  you ;  the  citoyenne  here  refuses  to  let 

me  pass.' 

'  How  then,  my  charmer  !  the  thing  is  impossible,'  cried 
Isnard  from  the  doorway.  '  Theroigne  Lafarge  oppose  bring- 
ing an  aristocrat  to  justice  !  What  woiild  the  Comite  Eevo- 
lutionnaire  say,  I  ask  you  1  and  how  come  you  to  be  lingering 
heie,'  he  persisted,  overpowering  her  loud  and  angry  demand 
of  how  he  knew  her,  '  when  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  has 
learned  that  those  rascals  of  the  Palais  Egalite  have  mounted 
the  white  cockade  and  tiu-ned  Royalists  !  What !  not  believe 
me?  me,  Pvegulus  Favard,  of  the  section  Des  Piques?     Ask 


AN  EKGEANGE  OF  PRISONERS.  I73 

all  yo\ir  neighbours  then  if  it  be  not  so.  As  soon  as  ever  I 
have  conducted  this  biigande  of  a  ci-devant  to  Les  Caimes 
I  shall  go  and  lend  my  arm  to  the  patriots  yonder.' 

The  shouts  of  people  running  down  the  street  bore  out 
his  asseition ;  the  news  of  the  intended  attack  on  the  Palais 
Eoyal  had  spi-ead  far  and  wide.  Theroigne  stood  vuicertain, 
glaring  at  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  as  if  the  instinct  of 
hatred  warned  her  that  her  j^rey  was  slipping  out  of  her 
clutch.  '  I  will  go  too  then,'  said  she,  suddenly,  '  and  see 
this  woman  in.  Les  Carmes  with  my  own  eyes.'  And  she 
seated  herself  in  the  fiacre,  and  awaited  the  others.  There 
was  no  choice  but  to  follow.  A  call  from  her  would  have 
brought  a  dozen  people  round,  and  destroyed  all  chance  of 
escape.  Balmat  put  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  in,  without 
daring  to  answer  her  anxious  and  enquiring  looks  even  by  a 
glance,  and  jumj^ed  up  beside  Isnard,  who  drove  back  more 
slowly  than  he  had  come,  for  the  streets  were  now  full  of 
hurrjdng  crowds,  and  he  was  not  sorry  for  the  opportunity  of 
exchanging  a  few  words  with  Balmat.  '  We  must  get  into 
the  thick  of  it,  and  shake  her  off  somehow  in  the  tumidt,'  he 
said,  paying  no  attention  to  Theroigne's  head  protruded  from 
the  window,  and  her  shouts  that  he  was  not  going  the  right 
way.  and  no  one  heeded  her  in  the  ci-owds  running  by,  but 
sucldeny  the  mob  grew  so  dense  that  they  could  get  no 
further,  and  had  to  draw  \ip  ;  the  space  before  the  palace  was 
filled  Avith  a  sea  of  heads,  wliich  seemed  to  waver  backwards 
and  forwards,  and  instead  of  the  sharp  ring  of  musketry  or 
boom  of  cannon  there  was  a  great  hush  of  expectation,  broken 
by  a  single  voice,  which  seemed  parleying  with  the  besieged. 
Only  a  word  or  two  reached  the  outer  circle  of  the  throng, 
and  the  answers  from  the  palace  were  equally  inaudible,  but 
they  were  caught  by  those  nearest,  and  repeated,  a  deafening 
cry  of  joy  and  applause  rose  up ;  men  flung  their  hats  aloft 
and  waved  the  banners  of  the  sections  ;  women  shrieked  with 
ecstasy  ;  the  multitude  swayed  to  and  fro,  the  gates  of  the 
Pa'ais  Eoyal  were  flung  open,  and  those  within  rushed  forth 
to  embrace  and  fraternise  with  their  enemies  of  a  moment 
before.  From  end  to  end  of  the  Bue  St.  Honore  and  all 
through  the  palace  gardens  the  mob,  freniied  with  delight  at) 


174  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

just  before  it  had  been  -with  rage,  danced,  sang,  shouted, 
ponrcd  into  the  Tuiieries,  and  thundered  at  the  dooi's  of  the 
room  where  the  Convention  were  sitting,  all  iinconocious  of 
what  had  passed,  to  call  on  the  representatives  of  the  nation 
to  shai'e  theii' joy.  Theroigne,  carried  away  by  the  nmvei'sal 
excitement,  had  sprung  out  oi  t\\e  fiacre,  though  still  holding 
the  door  fast,  and  screamed  with  the  rest ;  Isnard,  from  his 
perch,  waved  his  red  cap,  and  looked  keenly  round  for  a 
chance  of  freeing  himself  from  her,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  asked  Balmat,  who  had  got  in  to  reassure  her,  '  Are 
they  all  raving  mad  ?  is  it  an  emeute  or  a  fete  of  univei-sal 
brotherhood  ? ' 

'  The  JIaratistes  wanted  to  revenge  Marat's  death,  and 
set  everyone  at  his  neighbour's  throat,'  he  answered,  having 
picked  up  enough  to  understand  what  had  hajjpened,  '  and 
assured  the  faubourg  that  the  merchants  of  the  Pa'ais  were 
wearing  the  white  cockade.  They  marched  down  as  you  see, 
but  before  they  could  come  to  blows  someone  with  a  grain  of 
sense  proposes  to  see  if  the  thing  be  so ;  they  find  it  is  a 
fable ;  all  hei-e  are  good  patriots  .  .  .  it  Ls  cleared  up,  they 
mingle,  embrace  with  tears  as  you  see  .  .  .  Yonder  come  the 
members  of  the  Convention  .  .  .  what  luck  !  we  have  only 
just  escaped  civil  war,  and  only  see  how  much  there  is  to 
plunder ! ' 

Just  then,  while  the  enthusiasm  was  at  its  height,  and 
the  members  of  the  Convention  were  embracing  and  embraced 
amid  deafening  applause,  Isnard  jumped  down,  recognising 
two  gens-d'armes  in  the  crowd,  who  however  did  not  know 
him  in  the  least,  though  they  had  twice  tried  to  find  and 
arrest  him,  and  thrust  the  warrant  into  the  hand  of  one 

'  Arrest  her,'  he  whispered,  pointing  to  Theroigne,  *  she 
belongs  to  the  Comite  Revolutionnaire.  Quietly,  you  vinder: 
stand ;  Fouche  wants  her  out  of  the  way.  Pay  no  attention 
to  anything  she  says.' 

The  men  nodded  significantly.  Arrests  were  so  frequent 
and  informal  that  they  would  hardly  have  asked  for  the 
waiTant,  and  the  female  clubs,  headed  by  the  infamous  Pose 
Lacombe,  had  made  themselves  so  insupportable  a  pest  to  the 
Convention  that  this  order  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world.     Before  Theroigne  knew  what  was  happening  to 


BETWEEN  FLOOD  AND  EBB.  175 

her  she  was  in  their  grasp ;  her  furious  shrieks  and  struggles 
were  unnoticed  in  the  tumult  of  rejoicing.  Isnard  did  not 
wait  to  see  the  result  of  his  coup  de  main ;  he  shut  the  door 
of  the  fiacre  with  a  triumphant  clap,  led  his  horse  as  best  he 
could  through  the  crowd  into  a  side  street,  and  then  drove  off 
at  speed  to  the  MaLson  Crocq,  where  Edmee  was  watching  in 
the  utmost  anxiety.  Before  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
could  alight  she  was  at  the  door. 

'  Dear  aunt !  dear  aunt ! '  she  whispered,  clasping  her 
close,  with  wet  eyes,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  gave 
back  her  caresses  almost  equally  moved.  Isnard  drove  away 
exultant ;  Balmat  and  Edmee  conducted  INIademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  upstairs  full  of  thankfulness.  Outside  the  tide  of 
rejoicing  swelled  higher  and  higher ;  Paris  was  illuminated, 
and  the  streets  thronged  till  late  at  night  by  a  crowd  who 
sang,  drank,  danced  and  howled  for  joy,  as  if  fear  and  poverty 
and  danger  at  home  and  abroad  were  things  of  the  past. 
Isnard  walked  about  with  the  rest,  looking  so  inilike  what 
he  had  done  in  the  morning  that  when  he  lit  upon  one  of  tho 
gens-d'armes  whom  he  had  impressed  into  his  service,  the 
man  accepted  his  proposal  that  they  should  drink  to  the 
Palais  Egalite,  and  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  and  the  Re- 
public one  and  indivisible,  without  any  suspicion  that  they 
had  ever  met  before,  and  was  easily  beguiled  into  relating 
how  he  had  conveyed  a  prisoner  that  afternoon  to  Les  Carmes 
who  had  given  him  more  trouble  than  any,  gentle  or  simple, 
whom  he  had  ever  before  had  to  do  with,  and  who  was  now 
safely  lodged  there  under  the  name  of  Valentino  St.  Aignan. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BETWEEIT   FLOOD   AND    EBB. 


The  guillotine  was  busier  than  ever  after  the  death  of 
Danton,  and  IMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  fult  herself  pre- 
served from  death,  when  she  leained  from  the  '  ]\Ioniteur' 


176  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

that  twenty-seven  prisoners  had  been  taken  to  execution  in 
one  day  fiom  the  Luxembourg  alone.  The  lines  from  Eacine, 
which  Edmee  had  read  her,  were  only  too  feeble  to  describe 
the  state  of  terror  and  danger  prevailing  all  thi-ongh  France. 
Sometimes  a  list  of  prisoners  especially  obnoxious  to  the  Con- 
vention, or  to  some  one  of  its  members,  was  given ;  some- 
times the  victims  were  taken  haph  azai'd  fi-om  all  the  eighteen 
provinces  of  Paris.  The  Convention  had  created  a  living 
monster  in  the  guillotine,  whose  hunger  must  be  daily  ap- 
peased by  lai'ger  and  larger  sacrifices,  lest  it  should  devom-  its 
masters.  Fouquier  Tinville  presided  over  the  holocausts,  and 
by  the  beginning  of  June  no  one  knew  how  many  heads  fell 
daily.  Cruelty  seemed  in  the  air,  and  the  thii-st  for  violent 
emotions  only  grew  with  what  it  fed  on.  There  were  some 
eyes  which  noted  this,  and  wondered  how  the  increasing  diffi- 
culty was  to  be  met.  Bread  and  the  games  had  ever  been  a 
Parisian  cry,  and  bread  was  growing  scarcer  and  scarcer, 
employment  more  difficult  to  obtain;  half  Paris  was  living 
on  potatoes,  though  not  long  before  all  the  efforts  of  j)oor 
Louis  XVI.  to  make  the  vegetable  popular  had  failed ;  tho 
male  population  was  flocking  to  the  army ;  the  women  stood 
fierce  and  hungry  at  the  bakers'  doors,  or  besieged  the  Ateliers 
de  la  Guerre  to  demand  work ;  and  if  the  executions  failed 
to  amuse  all  this  population,  a  counter-revolution  would 
ensue.  The  symptoms  were  ominous.  From  different  paits 
of  the  city  came  complaints  that  the  dead,  flmig  into  pits, 
poisoned  the  aii',  though  no  one  had  ever  thought  of  annoy- 
ance or  danger  arising  fi-om  the  hundredfold  greater  numbers 
biiried  regularly  every  year  in  the  same  cemeteries ;  and  tho 
Faubourg  St.  Antoine  showed  its  displeasure  when  the  gtiil- 
lotine  was  i-enioved  thei-e  from  the  Place  de  Concord,  or  Place 
de  la  Revolution,  as  it  was  now  called,  where  it  had  stood 
near  the  gi-eat  plaster  statue  of  Libeity,  designed  in  an  unfor- 
tunate moment  by  David,  who  v/as  sculptor  as  well  as  painter. 
De  Pelven  was  one  of  those  watching  the  signs  of  the 
times  narrowly  and  uneasily.  It  was  nothing  to  a  serenely 
philosophical  mind  like  his  which  party  triumj^hed ;  he  had 
been  unmoved  by  the  tumult  of  indignation  and  hope,  of  en- 
thusiasm and  battle  in  '89,  and  had  looked  on  with  the  same 
calm  analysis  of  the  situation  ever  since,  but  though  neither 


BE 2' WEEN  FLOOD  AND  EBB.  177 

Royalist  nor  Democrat  at  heart  he  was  too  deeply  involved 
with  the  Republican  pai-ty  to  transfer  himself  easily  to  any 
other.  The  tremendous  current  had  hurried  him  further 
than  he  desii-ed ;  no  swimmer,  however  strong,  could  resist 
it  and  live.  He  was  sitting  in  his  little  salon,  making  notes 
in  cipher  in  a  small  book,  with  a  v/orn  and  haggard  look  on 
his  face,  which  had  become  habitual  to  it  in  the  last  few 
weeks,  when,  very  little  to  his  satisfaction,  there  entered 
Heron,  the  accredited  police-agent  to  the  Comite  de  Surete, 
and  the  secret  spy  of  Eobespierre.  De  Pelven  had  it  as  much 
at  heart  as  Robespierre  himself  not  to  be  known  to  communi- 
cate with  the  police.  All  i-eports  were  conveyed  to  safe  places, 
where  he  inspected  them ;  he  did  not  keep  a  single  paper 
which  could  have  compromised  him  in  his  house,  where  the 
mob  or  the  gens-d'armes  might  have  penetrated  at  any  moment 
Vv'jthout  ssiz'ng  anything  but  the  little  book  full  of  cipher, 
which  he  cai-ried  about  his  person,  and  if  he  required  an  in- 
tsrview  with  any  police-officer,  it  was  always  given  in  some 
secure  and  unsuspected  place,  such  as  the  Maison  Lafarge. 
Unlike  Robespieii'e  he  had  no  personal  animosities,  no  fear  of 
some  rival  overshadowing  his  renown,  and  never  denounced 
anyone,  though  he  always  found  someone  else  to  do  it  if  any- 
body thwarted  or  endangered  his  projects.  No  one  di-eamed 
of  applying  to  him  the  dangerous  epithet  of  '  Accuser  iia  chief 
with  which  Robespierre  had  been  branded,  and  his  only  perils 
hithei-to  had  been  through  a  reputation  for  uupati-iotic  cle- 
mency. He  appeai'ed  as  a  matter  of  course  at  tlie  Jacobins, 
and  was  one  of  the  nine  members  of  the  Committee  of  Public 
Safety,  which  had  almo.st  iinlimited  power,  deliberating  hx 
secret,  controlling  the  Ministry,  and  even  able  to  suspend  the 
decrees  of  the  Convention,  and  he  had  organised  Robcspiei-re's 
secret  police,  of  whose  existence  veiy  few  knew,  though  the 
results  of  then*  creation  were  universally  felt,  but  as  far  as 
possible  he  kept  out  of  sight,  content  with  unsuspected  power, 
and  well  aware  that  shoidd  it  be  dragged  to  light,  half  would 
vanLsh,  and  a  swarm  of  enemies  rise  on  all  sides.  It  was 
therefore  a  displeased  and  enquiring  look  which  he  turned 
on  the  pale  and  troubled  face  of  Heron,  who  answered  by  a 
gesture,  and  an  exclamation  of  '  They  are  at  it  again  !  Tlicy 
are  resolved  to  strike  RobespieiTe  through  his  friends.' 


178  'NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  How  !  have  you  been  denounced  a  second  time  ?'  asked 
De  Pelven,  instantly  perceiving  the  gi'avity  of  the  cii-cnm- 
stance ;  for  a  suspicion  had  got  abroad  that  Heron  was  Eobes- 
pieiTe's  right  hand,  and  ah'eady  members  of  the  Convention 
who  dared  not  yet  attack  '  The  Incorruptible '  had  tried  to 
destroy  his  tool. 

'  Yes,  and  who  can  hope  to  escape  twice  1  This  evening 
they  proposf\  to  denounce  me  again,  and  yon  also.' 

'  Tog'  'hAT?'  asked  De  Pelven,  changing  coloui-.  '  That  is 
well  '  •■  I  .  .  .  I  know  from  whose  hand  that  blow  must 
come  ut  it  is  premature  ;  Robes])ieiTe  must  stand  by  113 
for  his  OAvn  sake  ;  he  cannot  do  without  us.' 

'  You  think  so  1  you  really  think  so  1 '  faltered  Heron, 
studying  De  Pelven 's  countenance,  where  he  had  detected  the 
expression  of  dLscomfiture,  without  guessing  that  it  was  not 
the  danger  Ijut  the  association  with  himself  wliich  perturbed 
De  Pelven. 

'  Undoubtedly ;  if  he  should  desert  us  he  would  be  de 
fenceless.' 

'  Bnt  he  dreads  nothing  so  much  as  being  supposed  to 
rely  on  the  police  ! '  said  Heron.  '  You  see  no  one  is  safe 
now  .  .  .  the  tide  seems  tiuming,  and  what  coiild  be  done  in 
such  a  case  %  The  Terror  cannot  be  made  more  formidable 
than  it  is.' 

'  That  is  our  weak  point.  It  has  been  allowed  to  reach 
the  maximum  ;  there  is  nothing  left  to  di'ead,  and  people  are 
getting  used  to  it.' 

'  But  it  would  be  madness  to  tiy  mercy,'  said  Heron,  in 
great  alarm.  '  That  plan  has  already  destroyed  Danton,  and 
all  who  have  tried  it.  And  this  evening  ...  I  was  told  that 
Bourdon  means  to  accuse  us  of  possessing  blank  warrants  of 
arrest,  with  which  we  gratify  private  animosities,  a  terrible 
charge — and  its  being  false  makes  no  difierence  ! ' 

*  It  must  be  prevented ;  I  must  get  possession  of  the 
tribune  before  Boiuxlon,  and  occupy  the  Convention  ■with 
other  matters.  I  have  news  from  an  agent  with  the  army ; 
Kleber  has  been  driven  back  across  the  Sambre  .  .  .  stay, 
there  is  good  news  to  throw  into  the  other  scale  ;  Thugut  is 
gi'owing  sick  of  the  war ;  he  advisers  Austria  to  withdraw 


BETWEEN  FLOOD  AND  EBB.  I'J'g' 

lier  troops  from  Flanders  .  .  .  PicliegTU  will  have  it  all  his 
own  way  a  week  hence.' 

'  What  £rood  fortune  !  thev  will  be  able  to  think  of  no- 
thing  else  ! '  said  Heron,  infinitely  relisved.  *  Either  very  bad 
or  veiy  good  news  would  have  done,  but  both  at  once  ! .  .  . 
what  luck  !  And  your  information  is  always  extraordinarily 
trustworthy,  citizen  Pelven,'  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  dis- 
contented envy.  '  But  our  army  .  .  .  how  does  it  take 
Eoche's  imprisonment  1 ' 

*  111 ;  the  army  is  terribly  democratic,'  saiu  De  Pelven, 
smiling  slightly,  '  though  it  has  strongly  res?nted  the  order  to 
dismiss  all  aristocrats  from  the  ranks.  It  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  thoroughly  obeyed,'  and  he  opened  his  note-book, 
where  he  had  set  down  the  names  of  various  men  of  nob'e 
^iith,  who,  forced  to  emigxate,  had  joined  the  a.rmy  which 
was  indomitably  struggling  with  the  allied  forces  gathered  by 
Europe  against  revolutionary  France.  His  eye  rested  for  a 
moment  on  one  which  chanced  to  be  of  especial  interest  to 
him — that  of  Alain  de  St.  Aignan,  showing  not  only  that  he 
had  altered  his  plan  of  escaping  to  England,  but  certainly  was 
not  in  Pai'is. 

'  You  are  sure  that  if  even  yet  we  should  be  denounced 
Robespierre  will  stand  by  us  1 '  asked  Heron  again,  returning 
to  a  subject  which  had  much  greater  interest  for  him  than 
public  affau's.  The  prospect  of  being  guillotined  seemed  to 
be  singularly  disagreeab'e  to  him,  though  he  had  helped  a 
multitude  of  people  to  find  that  road  out  of  the  world  with 
the  utmost  composure. 

'  I  have  said  so  already.  But  Robespieire  should  be,  are. 
He  leans  too  much  on  that  broken  stafi:"  the  piivistly  party. 
He  has  always  protected  it  on  the  sly,  and  his  project  of 
liberty  of  worship,  his  fete  of  the  iiltre  Supreme  is  alienating 
numbers  who  think  that  to  be  successful  the  Revolution  must 
be  auti-christian.  The  name  of  an  Etre  Sujiremo  has  a  sus- 
piciously monarchical  sound  about  it.' 

'  So  I  have  told  him  a  hundred  times,  citizen,'  siiid  Heron 
mournfully,  '  but  he  v/ill  not  listen.' 

'  Ho  wants  to  create,  v/hile  the  others  want  to  destroy—' 
there  is  an  immense  pleasure  in  destructiou.      Well,  citizen 


•^■•180  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

\^ 

Heron,  you  may  be  tranquil,  no  haiTa  "will  come  to  either  of 
lis  to-night  v.t  all  events,  bnt  allow  me  to  observe  that  you 
committed  a  grave  impiiulence  in  coming  here  uncalled  for  ; 
it  would  suggest  that  we  concerted  plans  together.  Do  not 
let  it  happen  again.  If  you  roquii-e  to  communicate  with  me, 
send  a  messenger  whom  you  can  trust — there  is  that  Jolin 
who  was  a  weaver,  and  finds  it  pay  better  to  work  for  the 
police  and  agitate  the  sections,  send  him.     I  like  that  ma».' 

Heron  rose  to  go,  with  an  uneasy  sigh.  He  had  un- 
limited belief  in  De  Pelven's  power,  and  did  not  doubt  that 
he  would  slip  tlirough  any  net,  however  fine  its  meshes,  but 
was  it  not  i^ossiblc  that  one  might  be  less  fortunate  than  the 
other  1  If  a  victim  had  to  be  olTered  wp,  it  would  cei-tainly 
be  Heron  rather  than  De  Pelven.  He  turned  back  at  the 
door,  to  give  a  note  which  he  had  taken  from  the  hand  of  a 
messenger  who  hurried  away  as  soon  as  it  was  delivered, 
*  From  some  prisoner  ! '  muttered  the  experienced  agent  of 
police,  as  he  noted  the  manner  of  delivery,  and  the  look  of 
the  missive,  and  lie  lingered  with  professional  cuiiosity  to  see 
what  came  of  it,  but  he  was  quite  unprepared  for  the  eftect  on 
De  Pelven,  whose  self-control  he  had  imagined  beyond  being 
shaken.  The  news  that  a  denmiciation  from  a  man  li  ze 
Boiu'don  de  I'Oise  was  hanguig  over  his  head  had  lefo  him 
completely  unmoved,  but  scarcely  had  he  cast  his  eyes  qu 
the  short,  ill-spelled  letter  than  he  started  up,  white  with 
fury.  '  Tricked  !  befooled  ! '  he  cried,  with  his  eyes  still  upon 
it.  '  Who  can  have  organised  this  1 '  then  seeing  Heron,  he 
recovered  himself,  and  turned  on  him  a  look  so  coldly 
thicptening  that  the  spy  slunk  away  cowed,  though  full  of 
intense  car  osity. 

De  Pelven  kjiew  well  that  his  life  depanded  on  his  fore- 
stalling and  defeating  the  measures  of  those  who  were  strildng 
at  Robispierre  through  him,  yet  he  put  off  all  steps  to  ensure 
his  safety  imtil  he  had  hurried  to  Les  Carmes,  whence  The- 
roisruD  bad  succeeded  in  sending  him  the  news  of  her  aiTest 
and  detention  in  the  place  of  Z.Iademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 
He  could  learn  little  from  her  beyond  the  bai*e  facts,  as  un- 
accountable to  liim  as  to  her,  except  that  he  saw  that  the 
mysterious  '  he  '  of  whom  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  had 


BETWEEN  FLOOD  AND  EBB.  18L 

dropped  a  hint  mtist  be  concerned  in  it.  De  Pelven  troubled 
hixnjelf  little  nbout  Theroigne,  having  weightier  matters 
than  her  imprisonment  on  hand,  but,  telling  her  that  when 
tried  she  must  find  witnesses  to  shov^^  that  she  had  been 
arrastcd  in  the  place  of  another  person,  left  her,  unheeding 
her  remonstrance  that  she  should  probably  he  executed  with- 
out going  through  the  ceremony  of  a  trial  at  all,  or  parish  in 
another  such  massacre  as  had  already  once  made  the  name 
of  L-TS  Carmes  odious. 

All  turned  out  as  he  had  foreseen  at  the  Convention  ;  his 
enemies  delayed  the  attack  v/hich  they  had  prepared,  for 
public  attention  v/as  absorbed  by  the  private  intelligence 
brought  forward  by  De  Pelven,  vrhich  indicated  a  new  and 
unexpected  turn  in  the  fluctuating  fortunes  of  the  campaign, 
and  a  tacit  admission  that  France,  beggared,  revolutionised, 
distract;d,  could  yet  hold  her  own,  with  her  ardent,  inex- 
p?i'ienced  young  armies,  against  the  veteran  soldiers  of  Europe^ 
So  occupied  Vv^as  the  whole  assembly,  from  the  lilontagne  to 
the  Di'oite  with  the  news  that  they  had  little  attention  to 
spare  for  a  member  who  appealed  for  a,  hearing  to  read  a  re- 
poit  full  of  anxious  and  weighty  matter  from  his  departuient 
of  the  state  of  anarchy  prevailing  there  and  elsewhere.  The 
complaint  was  ans weired  by  a  brief  order  that  certain  culprits 
named  in  the  report  shoiild  be  sent  to  Paris  to  stand  their 
trial.  De  Pelven  found  some  interest  in  this  hasty  debate, 
if  no  one  else  did,  when  amongst  the  j^laces  named  as  espe- 
cially unfortunate  he  caught  the  name  of  the  Commune  of 
St.  Aignan,  and  gathered  that  it  was  tyrannised  over  by  a 
man  risen  from  the  people,  who  was  acting,  according  to  the 
complaint  lodged  against  him,  '  like  a  seigneur.'  It  seemed 
that  he  had  the  habit  of  imprisoning  imder  trivial  accusations 
any  neighbom^s  who  had  money,  and  obliging  them  to  buy 
then-  liberty  at  five  or  six  hiincli-ed  li\'i-es  each  ;  that  he  had 
obliged  the  peasants  to  labour  unpaid  on  the  '  biens  uationaux ' 
which  he  had  acquired  iii  the  last  year ;  that  he  bought 
wheat  cheap  to  sell  dear,  and  finally  that  he  had  prevented 
the  ex-parish  piiest  from  marrj-ing  as  a  good  patriot  should, 
and  even  shut  up  the  girl  on  whom  this  honest  man  had  set  his 
affections.     All  this  betrayed  a  state  of  things  \ery  far  from, 


182  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

satisfactoiy,  and  was  but  too  true  a  picture  of  the  condition 
of  many  depaitmeuts,  but  it  was  the  name  of  the  oftendei* 
wliich  riveted  the  interest  of  Do  Pclven,  for  he  had  learned 
it  from  Edmee,  in  those  conversations  which  seemed  now  to 
have  taken  place  long  ago,  though  in  reality  only  a  few 
months  had  passed  since  he  met  her  at  Mortemart.  It  was 
Jacc^ues  Pierre  Leroux. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BEMINISCENCES 


*  No,  I  cannot  see  it,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  witli 
a  hasty,  impetuous  gesture.  '  You  may  say  what  you  like, 
child,  and  I  know  that  you  fully  believe  every  woi'd  of  it, 
but  I  tell  you  the  thing  is  im])ossible.  There  are  things 
which  a  gentleman  cannot  do.  Tell  me  that  he  is  a  gamestei', 
immoial,  cruel,  and  I  will  believe  it.  I  have  seen  all  that  in 
my  time  ;  you  may  be  that  and  yet  be  a  gentleman  still,  but 
that  De  Pelven  should  have  been  cogiiisant  of  my  arrest, 
have  intended  to  use  it  as  a  weapon  against  you,  that  ]  can- 
not credit.' 

'  But,  dear  aunt,  he  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  deny 
it,'  urged  Edmee. 

•  Ta,  ia  !  ma  charmante  !  You  misundar.stood  him. 
Have  I  not  already  explained  to  you  that  it  was  for  a  friend 
he  pleaded  to  me  1  You  have  no  experience  of  these  sort  of 
tilings ;  you  mistook  him,  otherwise  why  did  he  pi'ocure  my 
release  1  He  had  no  easy  task  to  do  it  either,  and  he  laugh- 
ingly told  me  that  if  it  were  known  he  should  never  have 
another  peaceful  moment,  for  his  door  would  be  besieged  vrith 
women,  imploi-ing  him  to  use  his  influence  to  gain  the  free- 
dom of  theii"  relations.  The  men  in  power  are  absolutely 
afraid  of  liberiitiug  anyone  on  that  very  account.  Yv'hat 
must  he  think  of  my  disappearance  !  he  ought  to  be  set  at 
ease  at  once,  and  I  shall  write  immediately  to  him.' 


BEMimSGENCES.  183 

Edmee  looked  despairingly  at  Balmat.  The  argnment 
v/as  no  new  one  ;  it  had  been  repeated  dail_y  ever  since  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  came  to  the  Maison  Crocq.  She 
either  could  not  or  would  not  believe  in  De  Pelven's  treason, 
and  his  visits  and  agreeable  conversation  were  a  great  loss  to 
her ;  the  society  of  honest  Balmat  and  Madelon  Crocq  was  a 
poor  substitute  for  that  of  De  Pelvon. 

'  I  should  think  that  Madame  Alain  wa-s  likely  to  know 
what  this  Pelven  said  to  her  better  than  anyone  else,  espe- 
cially as  no  one  else  heard  it,'  observed  pjalmat,  who  had 
been  on  the  point  of  going  out,  but  paused  to  come  to 
Edmee's  aid. 

'  My  good  Balmat,  this  is  a  matter  with  which  you  have 
nothing  to  do  ;  outsiders  should  not  mix  themselves  up  with 
family  aftairs  ;  go  you  to  yo\xr  painting,'  answered  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan,  Avith  good-humoured  hauteur. 

'  When  a  man  has  risked  his  life  in  a  business,  it  can 
hardly  be  said  that  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,'  returned 
Balmat,  not  a  whit  abashed ;  and  the  remark  was  so  just 
that  for  a  moment  it  silenced  her,  though,  as  she  afterwards 
said  to  Edmee,  the  roturier  peeped  out  in  thus  indelicately 
recalling  the  obligation  which  she  lay  under.  Balmat,  quite 
unconscious  of  his  offence,  took  advantage  of  the  silence  to 
add,  '  I  hear  some  things  now  and  then  of  the  man ' 

'  If  you  mean  my  cousin,  M.  de  Pelven,  I  should  know 
him  better  by  that  name,'  interposed  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignnn 

'  "Which  bear  out  all  that  Madame  Edmee  says,'  con- 
tinued Balmat,  who  seemed  fated  this  morning  to  sin  without 
discovering  it ;  '  we  are  out  of  his  grasp  for  the  time,  but  a 
bloodhound  has  not  a  keener  scent ;  it  will  be  a  mii-acle  if  he 
do  not  find  us.  Till  then,  let  it  alone  and  be  thankful,  say 
I.     Let  him  who  has  a  waxen  head  keep  out  of  the  sunshine  ! ' 

And  he  went  out,  his  portfolio  under  his  arm. 

'  Are  you  go'ng  to  David's  atelier  1 '  Edmee  asked,  as  be 
was  closing  the  door. 

'  No,  they  do  not  pose  the  model  to-day.  If  1  am  wanted 
you  will  find  me  at  the  Augustins.' 

'  Where  does  he  say  1 '  asked  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
di'opping  a  subject  in  which  she  felt  herself  worsted. 


184  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  He  cannot  see  to  draw  in  his  garret  overhead,  so  he  has 
made  a  sort  of  studio  in  the  cloister  of  the  Augustins.  I 
have  been  there  .  .  .  Ah,  mademoiselle,  Avhat  a  sight  the 
chiu'ch  is !  the  painted  glass  gone,  the  wind  and  rain  beating 
in,  the  high  altar  shattered  to  jiieces,  and  a  statue  of  Liberty 
in  the  red  cap  fastened  against  one  of  the  pillars  !  I  found 
a  corner  where  I  could  kneel  and  pray  ;  I  go  there  sometimes, 
but  once  I  was  so  terrified,  a  man  came  in  without  my 
noticing  him,  and  said  "  How  !  you  hold  to  those  mouldy  old 
superstitions  !  we  will  guillotine  you  ! "  but  he  went  away 
laugiiing.     Balmat  was  full  of  fear  for  me,  however.' 

'  Do  you  say  that  he  has  his  atelier  there  1 ' 

'  Yes,  in  a  corner  sheltered  from  the  weather,  and  where 
lie  has  contrived  to  make  a  good  light.  It  was  terribly  cold 
in  winter,  he  says ;  the  brush  would  drop  from  his  fingers 
without  his  feeling  it,  but  he  has  a  will  strong  enough  to  dry 
uj)  the  Seine  !  he  persisted.  I  hope  that  he  will  not  be 
tiu'ned  out  when  the  monuments  and  all  the  other  things 
from  convents  and  churches  are  taken  there.  It  is  to  be 
made  a  National  Museum,  he  says — the  poor  church  ! ' 

'  Does  he  draw  well,  this  young  man  1 ' 

'  Ah,  it  is  so  sad  antl  strange  !  He  adores  his  art ;  he 
has  loved  it  all  his  life,  and  he  draws  wonderfidly  with 
crayon  or  chai-coal,  but  the  moment  he  takes  a  brush  and 
tries  to  paint,  or  above  all  to  compose,  he  can  do  nothing. 
He  says  that  David  encoiu-ages  him  to  persevei-e,  and  study 
severely  the  antique,  but  that  it  is  only  out  of  kindness,  and 
it  breaks  his  heart ! ' 

'  Poor  fellow  ! '  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  really 
touched,  *  that  explains  his  anxious  and  sorrowful  looks. 
How  does  he  live  1 ' 

'  Very  hardly ;  he  has  made  a  little  money  by  portraits ; 
his  sketches  are  astonishingly  faithfid,  as  you  know,  and  also 
he  works  between- whiles  at  watch-making,  with  a  compatriot 
whom  he  knows  here.  Sometimes  he  has  even  helped 
Madelon's  nephew,  that  black-bearded  man,  to  carry  loads 
on  the  quais.  He  would  starve,  I  think,  sooner  than  ask 
help  from  his  family,  for  to  send  him  here  his  sisters  were 
forced  to  diminish  their  little  dowries.' 


REMINISCENCES.  185 

'  You  seem  to  know  all  about  him,  child  ! ' 

'  Yes,  I  do,'  answered  Edmee,  simply  ;  '  he  has  told  me  all 
about  liis  early  life  in  Switzerland,  and  his  family,  and  we 
have  talked  a  great  deal  about  his  prospects.  He  was  so 
good  to  me  in  the  dreadful  days  when  you  were  in  the 
Ijuxembourg ! ' 

'That  is  all  very  well,  ma  toiUe  belle,  but  do  not  forget 
that  you  are  the  Comtesse  de  St.  Aignan,  and  our  good  Balmat 
a  watchmaker's  son,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who,  in 
spite  of  her  interest  in  the  Huguenot  printer,  had  come  out  of 
prison  a  great  deal  more  of  an  aristocrat  than  she  went  in. 
'  One  can  expect  nothing  else  in  a  man  not  ne,  but  really  h's 
want  of  tact,  his  hrusqtierie,  are  trying.  To  call  a  person 
of  good  birth  "  that  man,"  for  instance,  as  he  did  just  now  ! ' 

'  I  think  because  he  is  a  Swiss  and  is  used  to  a  Republic 
he  neither  hates  nor  respects  a  title  as  people  do  here,'  said 
Edmee,  who,  if  she  had  not  learned  to  sympathise,  had  at 
least  begun  to  imderstand  through  Balmat  what  the  feelings 
of  a  temperate  Republican  were. 

'  Well  ...  it  may  be  so,'  and  then,  as  if  the  svibject  had 
reminded  her  of  her  fellow-prisoner,  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  added,  'I  saw  my  poor  printer's  name  in  the 
"  ]\Ioniteur "  yesterday,*  next  to  the  Abbe  de  Beaumont's. 
When  I  left  the  Luxembourg,  the  poor  abbe  ran  after  me  with 
my  snuff-box,  which  I  had  dropped,  and  said  "  Adieu,  dear 
Mademoiselle ;  you  go  forth  to  freedom,  and  I  shall  go  forth 
to  investigate  the  great  Perhaps  ! "  I  used  to  know  him  a 
little  formerly, — the  best  card-player  I  ever  met,  but  he 
would  never  play  for  money ;  when  the  abbe  played  the 
stakes  had  to  be  a  dozen  of  To(|uay,  or  a  Perigord  ]jie.' 

'  Ah,  mademoiselle,  how  different  your  life  was  then  ! 
how  hnrd  this  must  seem  to  you  !'  said  Edmee,  glancing  sor- 
rowfully round  at  the  miserably  furnished  room,  which  her 
resources  were  far  too  scanty  to  allow  her  to  improve. 

'  Not  so  much  as  you  tliink,  my  child.  My  father  was 
one  of  the  poorest  of  men  in  France  when  I  was  a  yoiuig 
thing ;  it  was  not  till  I  was  gi'own  u])  that  we  inherited  the 
fortune  gained  by  an  luicle  in  Ameiica — not  great  ricjies, 
you  understand,  but  enough  to  raise  us   into   alnuence,  and 


18G  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

then  my  eldest  brotlier  luarrieil  a  wealthy  heiress :  my  fathei* 
hesitated  for  some  time,  but  at  last  gave  his  consent,  &s  my 
motlier  had  it  gi-eatlyat  heart.' 

'  Hesitate  1  whetlicr  Monsieur  your  brother  should  many 
my  iru  imothcr  I'  cried  Edmce. 

'  ^'>  hy  yes,  for  after  all  thoiiuh  the  nohlestue  de  role  has 
always  Ijeen  highly  esteemetl,  it  ha.s  never  }iad  the  enti-ees  at 
Vei-siiilles,  or  the  privileccos  which  we.  the  nohlfsae  de  rcpee, 
iidie  it  .  .  .  that  is  u  thing  of  coui-se.  Still,  it  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  maiTving  into  a  linancial  circle ;  that  would  liave 
1  r  •:!  out  of  the  question.  It  was  a  strangely  lonely  life  that 
i  .v\,  now  J  look  back,  ^ly  brother  was  with  his  i-cgiment, 
and  hardly  ever  came  home.  I  was  the  youngest  of  all.  My 
sister  Petronillo  l>ecame  a  nun,  Lucile  a  canoness — then  there 
wci-<3  only  four  mastei-s  left  in  the  chiiteau,  my  father  and 
mother,  myself,  and  the  old  uncle  of  wliom  1  have  often  told 
you,  house  servants — a  cook,  my  mother's  maid,  two  lacqueys 
and  a  coachman.  My  fatlier  had  an  old  lioi'se  and  a  hound  ; 
ho  went  out  li.-^liing  or  .shooting  every  day  when  it  was  lino. 
War,  duels,  and  the  chaso  were  the  projfcr  occupations  of  a 
gentleman,  he  u.sed  to  siy.' 

'  And  you,  mademoi.sel!e  ? ' 

'  I  ran  alx)ut  in  an  old  frock,  patched  all  over,  with  my 
hair  knotted  on  the  toj)  of  my  head,  and  an  iron  collar,  covoi-od 
with  black  velvet,  round  my  neck,  to  make  mc  hold  myself 
u]>.  Sunday  was  our  gi-e:\t  day,  for  then  my  mother  ami  I 
went  to  the  parish  clniix;h.  It  was  all  gay  as  a  cemeteiy ! 
Sometimes  .some  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood  would  ride 
up.  and  stay  all  night ;  my  mother  did  not  like  the  liohereavx 
to  see  oiir  poverty,  but  my  father  used  to  .'^ay  'iwbl''sse  pass  7 
rich'sse  ;  poverty  could  not  make  us  rot?irif)'s,  and  welcomed 
anyone  who  chose  to  come,  it  did  not  happen  twice  in  a 
twelvemonth.  Then  they  talked  about  local  matters,  or  the 
war  in  Hanover  ...  it  made  a  change,  after  all.  The  cure 
^■.'.inc^  to  p'ay  at  bow]s  with  my  father  on  a  Sunday  afternoon ; 
as  for  us,  we  prayed  and  did  tajiestry  work  from  ycai's  end 
to  year's  end.'  She  paused,  recalling  those  bygone  days  with 
a  smix  and  a  sigh.  'Yes,  it  was  dull  enough!'  she  con- 
tinued preseut^.y.     '  Not  a  sound  in  the  chateau  but  the  great 


REMINISCENCES.  187 

bell  when  it  rang  at  noon  for  dinner,  and  tlie  sparrows  cliii^p- 
ing  and  scolding  the  hawks  which  bviilt  in  the  tower.  The 
sparrows  have  the  best  of  it  in  these  days,  they  have  di'iven 
the  hawks  out ! ' 

'  But  did  you  never  go  from  home,  mademoiselle  \ '  asked 
Sdmee,  who,  remembering  the  chateau  in  the  gay  days  of  its 
last  owners,  could  hardly  believe  in  this  earlier  state,  which 
(phe  now  heard  described. 

'  Never,  child,  we  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  do 
not  recollect  the  old  herllnrjot  ever  being  used.  Our  only 
gaiety  was  the  annual  fair ;  then  our  vassals  came  to  fetch 
the  seigneurial  banner,  and  set  it  up  in  the  midst ;  we  chil- 
dren used  to  go  down  and  hope  that  my  father  would  buy  us 
something,  but  he  never  did  .  .  .  Still,  it  was  a  gay  sight,  and 
we  enjoyed  it  ...  It  was  iraportant  to  us  too,  for  every  head 
t>f  cattle  paid  so  much  to  the  Seigneur.  My  father  was  not 
a  hard  man,  but  he  held  to  all  his  rights;  he  looked  upon  it 
as  a  duty  to  his  order,  and  could  not  forgive  those  Seigneurs 
who  allowed  old  customs  and  taxes  to  fall  into  disuse.  And 
that  was  our  only  amusement.' 

'  Mademoiselle,'  said  Edmee,  with  a  smile,  *  I  think  you 
would  almost  have  welcomed  the  Revolution  ! ' 

'  My  dear  child  ! '  answered  j\Iademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
energetically,  '  you  do  not  know  how  truly  you  are  speaking  ! 
I  am  convinced  that  the  ennui  of  people's  lives  had  a  great  deal 
to  do  with  the  satisfaction  with  which  at  first  the  Revolution 
was  hailed.  It  afforded  something  to  discuss  ;  then  we  were 
afraid  of  those  brigands  against  whom  the  ilSTational  Guard 
was  formed,  a,nd  who  never  existed  ...  it  was  so  amusing  to 
be  frightened ! ' 

'  We  have  had  a  great  deal  of  such  amusement  since  ! ' 

'  Too  much  ;  one  is  hlase  with  it  now,  but  then — they  are 
coming,  they  are  not  coming — they  are  at  hand,  they  have 
been  seen — no,  they  will  not  be  here  till  to-morrow — and 
fin^Jly  the  brigands  never  came  at  all,  but  the  Garde 
ISTationale  was  formed,  and  that  fact  remained,  and  that  is  all 
which  is  important.  Of  course  I  had  ceased  to  be  young 
when  all  this  began;  after  all  it  is  but  a  very  few  years  wheu 


188  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

one  comes  to  thmfc  of  it,  but  there  were  manv  still  leadins 
such  lives  as  I  had,  and  feeling  as  I  should  have  felt.  j\Iy 
father  had  died  years  before,  happiiy  for  him ;  the  changes 
would  have  killed  him.  That  Matthieu  do  Montmorenci 
and  a  De  Noailles  should  have  pi'oposcd  to  abolish  titles 
would  have  been  a^one  the  death  of  him.  All  the  world 
was  mad  then,  but  what  a  generous  madness  it  was  !  And 
to  think  where  we  have  drifted  to  now  1 ' 

'  How  will  it  end  ? '  murmured  Edmee,  *  and  will  the 
emigres  ever  return  1 ' 

'Eetui'n!  of  course  they  will,  and  when  one  whom  we 
know  does  so,  I  shail  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  him  of  the 
tenderness  and  care  which  a  certain  little  e^\  showed  his 
provoking  old  aunt.'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  draw- 
ing Edmee  to  her.  '  He  ough'.  to  love  you  for  that  alone,  my 
child.' 

Edmee  sighed.  Somehow  she  did  not  wish  for  Alain's 
love  as  a  leturn  for  what  she  had  done ;  it  seemed  too  like  a 
debt  of  honour  which  Alain  must  needs  pay.  Alain  had 
grown  very  real  to  her ;  she  could  hai-dly  tell  why ; 
Balmat  had  talked  of  him ;  De  Pelven  had  taught  her  to 
contrast  his  conduct  with  the  Chevalier's,  verygieatly  to  the 
advantage  of  the  latter,  but  yet  this  was  not  the  explanation. 
Love  sometimes  feeds  on  itself  in  absence,  and  grows  strong 
in  so  doing ;  pei-haps  it  was  so  with  her,  for  Edmee's  was 
essentially  a  romantic  nature.  '  I  wonder  if  he  ever  thinks 
of  me  ? '  she  would  say  to  herself,  and  from  the  little  which 
she  knew  or  could  learn,  she  constructed  an  Alain  to  whom 
she  felt  her.self  curiously  responsible.  She  was  roused  from 
thoughts  of  him  by  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 's  question, 

'  How  does  the  purse  hold  out,  child  %  All  going  out  and 
none  coming  in  makes  it  very  light,  I  fear.' 

Edmee  could  not  deny  it,  and  the  fact  was  a  grave  one, 
for  she  did  not  see  how  to  refill  it.  She  hastily  took  up  a 
muslin  handkerchief  which  she  was  embroidering  for  a  shop 
whei-e  Madelon  had  found  her  employment,  and  felt  guilty  that 
she  had  wasted  at  least  half-an-hour  in  talk.  Unfortunately 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  did  not  like  to  see  her  at  work 
when  she  wanted  to  talk  and  be  listened  to. 


REMINISCENCES.  189 

'  I  detest  those  muslin  rags,'  sa.id  she,  impatiently.  *  I  do 
believe  that  those  flimsy  stuffs  were  the  beginning  of  all  the 
troubles.  There  never  would  have  been  a  revolution  if 
people  had  kept  to  brocade  and  pointdace.  I  recollect  the 
scandal  when  the  Coui-t  took  to  India  muslin,  and  we  in  the 
provinces  could  hardly  believe  it.  I  have  heard  that  the 
Duchesse  de  Lauzan  received  a  present  from  her  gi-andmother, 
the  Marechale  de  Luxembourg,  of  an  apron  of  sailcloth, 
trhnmed  with  point,  as  a  protest  against  the  new  fashions, 
but  it  was  of  no  use ;  people  took  to  ch'esses  of  soupirs 
etoitffes,  and  caps  of  conquete  assures.  But  if  you  must  toil 
all  day,  I  would  rather  see  you  paint.  Alain  has  a  gi-eat 
taste  for  painting  ;  he  could  not  openly  indulge  it,  for  his 
father  thought  it  unbecoming  a  man  of  rank  ;  but  I  believe 
he  pursued  it  in  secret.' 

'  And,  indeed,  I  would  rather  paint,'  answered  poor 
Edmee,  with  a  wistful  look  towards  her  pallet  and  colour- 
box  ;  '  but  who  cares  to  buy  anything  but  necessaries  now  !  ' 

'  Yo;i  are  wrong,  child ;  neither  money  nor  morals  seem 
worth  care  in  times  like  these.  I  saw  that  even  in  the  short 
time  I  was  in  the  Luxembourg.  Things  were  bad  enough, 
Heaven  knows,  before  '89.  I  was  in  Paris  for  a  few  months, 
and  the  state  of  things  amazed  me  ;  the  magistracy  were 
ashamed  of  their  jjrofession  ;  their  wives  wanted  to  be  great 
lad.es  ;  there  was  no  I'eligion  ;  if  the  Saviour  were  named  in 
a  sermon,  it  must  be  as  the  great  Lawgiver  of  the  Christians. 
.  .  .  You  might  ape  an  Englishman,  an  American,  only  not 
be  a  simple  Frenchman ;  but  now  it  is  "  Let  lis  eat  and 
dr!nk,  for  to-morrow  we  die."  One  lady  said  to  me  in  the 
Luxembourg,  '•  If  I  am  cruel  to  him  to-day,  I  may  have  no 
time  to  make  up  for  it  to-morrow  !  "  No,  never  could  I  have 
imagined  such  a  state  of  things — it  was  as  if  the  end  of  the 
world  were  at  hand — and  everyone,  except  a  few  who  were 
vez'itable  saints — crazy  with  recklessness.' 

'  I  hope  to  sell  a  little  more  lace ;  some  people  wear  it 
st'll,  and  Madelon  has  found  me  a  purchaser  ;  she  cannot  sell 
her  own,  though  she  makes  it  beautifully,  because  before 
coni'ng  to  Paris  she  had  unfortunately  swoi-n  on  the  gospels 
only  to  supply  one  particidar  j^erson,  who  used  to  come  to 


190  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

her  village,  and  hwj  all  that  the  women  made  there,  and  she 
does  not  know  what  has  become  of  him.' 

'  Indaed  !  It  is  remarkable,  for  she  has  the  little  fault  of 
loving  money,  our  good  Maielon,  and,  I  fear,  m'ght  turn  us 
into  the  street  if  we  could  not  pay  our  rent,  which  is,  more- 
over, not  small .' 

'  T  do  not  think  that  she  would  do  that,  though  she  docs 
make  us  pay  highly.  She  is  patient  with  those  poor  people  in 
the  rooms  next  us,  and  lets  the  wife  pay  by  doing  little 
services,  when  they  cannot  otherwise.' 

'  I  taimot  say;  I  think  if  she  had  to  pay  her  own  ransom, 
she  would  prefer  dying  to  part  with  the  money,'  .^aid  I\Iade- 
moiselle  de  St.  Aignan ;  '  but  she  is  a  good  woman,  though 
plain,  a  vrai  jamhon,  no  shape  at  all !  Still,  I  would  rather 
sec  her  than  that  Theroigne.' 

Edmee  shuddered.  She  could  not  forget  the  hideous 
details,  the  vile  language  inflicted  on  her  by  their  former 
laiidladv.  She  thought  that  rather  than  face  her  again  she 
would  almost  take  refuge  in  the  Conciergerie  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXIY 

A  HECOGNITION. 


Of  all  the  startling  and  absorbing  events  which  had  filled 
the  last  two  years,  and  they  had  assuredly  been  neither  few 
nor  far  between,  none,  perhaps,  had  more  occupied  Paris  than 
that  festival  whose  very  name  startled  all  ears,  the  Fete  of 
the  Etre  Supreme,  which  Robespierre  had  decreed  for  the  7th 
of  Jvme.  '  The  idea,'  he  had  paid,  in  a  speech  as  fervent  as 
the  one  in  which  some  yeais  before  he  had  pleaded  for  the 
total  abolition  of  capital  pmiishment,  '  the  idea  of  the 
Supi-eme  Being,  and  of  the  immoitahty  of  the  soul  is  a  con- 
tinual call  to  justice  ;  it  is  theiefore  a  social  and  lejiublican 
principle.'     Hebert   had   proclaimed   athe'sm ;    the    leading 


A  RECOGNITION  101 

Gii-ondins  had  urged  the  Convention  to  banish  the  name  of 
tlie  Divinity  from  the  constitution ;  Dauton  had  'aasjhed  to 
Fcorn  the  thought  of  another  world,  and  a  Judge  of  men ; 
Robespierre,  therefore,  before  whom  all  thes?  men  had  suc- 
cessively fallen,  stood  forth  as  the  champion  of  Providence. 
The  sensation  produced  by  this  step,  not  only  in  France,  but 
throughout  Europe,  was  as  indesciibable  as  it  was  complicated. 
Numbers  hoped  that  it  foretold  the  end  of  the  Revolution, 
aud  already  in  imagination  saw  the  desecrated  chui'chef 
re-opened,  and  persecution  a  thing  of  the  pa,st,  while  others 
passionately  recoiled  fi-om  seeing  the  cause  of  re  igion  upheld 
by  such  a  champion,  and  others  again  scarcely  suppressed  the'r 
bui-ning  rage  and  disgust  at  seeing  the  first  step  taken  towai-ds 
restoi'ing  that  Christianity  which  the  clergy  had  taught  them 
to  confound  with  the  stake,  with  opposition  to  progress,  Avith 
tyranny  of  conscience,  and  light  and  useless  lives,  led  at  the 
expense  of  othei's,  so  that  while  one  would  cry  with  naive 
wonder  and  joy,  '  What  a  giand  decree  !  there  is  to  be  a 
God!'  another  with  passionate  tears  exclaimed,  'That 
scoundi-el  Robespieii-e !  he  has  determined  that  we  shall 
have  a  SujDreme  Being ! ' 

Echoes  of  all  these  various  phases  of  feeling  reached  the 
JNIaison  Crocq,  though  in  general  politics  v/ei-e  little  discussed 
there,  for  Pere  Crocq  was  either  jovial  at  his  ca,fe,  oi'  smok- 
ing sullenly  in  his  kitchen,  and  Madelon  far  too  busy  to  con- 
cern herself  with  such  subjects  ;  lier  black-bearded  nej^hew, 
Michonnet,  too,  troubled  himself  little  with  them ;  in  fact, 
for  two  years  or  more  a  great  indifference  to  politics  had 
fallen  on  the  Parisians ;  the  meetings  of  the  sections  had 
gradually  become  deserted,  except  by  those  bribed  to  attend 
them  ;  the  novelty  of  having  a  hand  in  governing  themselves 
had  gone  off,  and  the  people  had  relapsed  into  the  habit, 
learned  through  centmies,  of  allowing  evei-ything  to  be 
settled  foi-  them,  and  accepting  it  passively.  There  had  been 
a  moment  when  even  the  club  of  the  Jacol^ins  seemed  dying 
out ;  but  Robespierre  had  galvanised  it  into  new  I'fe  with 
tei-rible  success.  The  Parisians  had  grown  tired  of  public 
aflau's,  as  they  have  of  a  great  many  things,  befoi-e  and  since. 
Some,  like  Balmat,  were  too  much  absorbed  in  private  con- 


19:3  KOBLFSSE  OBLIGE. 

cprns  to  care  for  anytking  beyond  them.  He  had  come  to 
Paris  to  learn  to  paint,  and  David's  atelier  was  his  world. 
This  fete,  however,  had  a  great  interest  for  him,  though  as  a 
religious  ceremony  he  regarded  it  with  wondering  ])ity ;  all 
the  details  were  p'anned  by  his  master,  David,  '  Commissaire 
de  la  Convention,'  who  had  been  altogether  carried  away  by 
the  excitement  of  the  times,  without  any  rooted  convictions, 
had  A'oted  the  King's  death,  and  declaimed  in  honour  of 
^larat  after  death,  and  was  entrusted  with  the  organisation 
of  all  the  Republican  fetes.  His  fame  as  an  artist  stood  so 
high  that  men  of  all  lanks  and  of  every  shade  of  o})inion  agi'ocd 
to  see  in  David  only  the  best  painter  ot  the  day,  and  flocked 
to  his  atelier,  from  the  aristocratic  Comte  de  Forbin  to  the 
ultra-Republican  Dubois,  who  outraged  even  the  little  de- 
cency of  language  and  manners  then  expected.  One  thing 
in  common  he  and  they  all  had,  a  vague  but  immense  belief 
in  the  future,  and  all,  unconscioiLS  that  with  few  excej>tions 
they  were  destined  to  die  young  and  unknown  to  fame, 
fully  l>elieve:l  themselves  destined  to  regenerate  the  world. 
Balmat,  indeed,  was  an  exception ;  but  then  he  was  of 
anoth?r  race  and  temperament  to  his  fellow-pupils.  It  was 
a  period  of  brief  and  fervid  life  of  exultation,  soon  to  die  into 
darkness,  though  its  effects  continue  to  this  day.  David 
represented  the  tastes  and  opinions  of  the  general  public,  and 
both  led  and  was  led  by  it.  Thence  came  his  strength  and 
his  weakness,  but  no  one  yet  saw  how  much  was  false  and 
temporary  in  his  popularity,  for  he  was  facile  princeps  among 
tlie  painters  of  France,  and  the  fame  of  his  pupils,  Gros  and 
Geric^iult,  was  scarcely  dawning. 

Since  David  was,  to  his  pupils  at  all  events,  the  chief 
figure  in  the  pi-ogramme  of  June  7th,  Balmat  took  it  as  a 
mattor  of  coui-se  that  he  must  be  present  too,  as  did  Jd  chon- 
uet,  since  he  was  a  favourite  model,  and  would  have  felt  it  a 
slight  to  the  great  master,  if  his  presence  did  not  grace  the 
scene,  though  Isnard  and  othei-s  had  not  spared  their  jests 
when  he  thus  stated  the  case.  Michonnet  knew  too  well  what 
was  due  to  himself  and  David,  to  be  moved,  renounced  a  day's 
work  to  attend  the  fete.  jMadelon  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  held  her  tongue,  too  sensible  to  waste  words,  but  mutter- 


i 


A  RECOGNITlOIl  193 

ing,  'Grand  imbecile,  va !  foi-  me  1  go  not  to  cHte  hetisol' 
and  stayed  at  home,  rather  to  the  disappointment  of  IMade- 
moiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  was  immensely  entertained  by 
the  whole  thing,  and  though  she  would  as  soon  have  gone  to 
one  of  the  low  pei'formances  in  the  Palais  Royal  theatre  as 
have  condescended  to  be  present  at  Ptobespierre's  fete,  very 
much  wished  for  a  more  detailed  and  lively  account  than  she 
was  likely  to  get  from  Ealmat,  whose  foi-te,  as  she  observed, 
w?.s  not  narration.  To  Edmee,  as  to  thousands  of  others,  the 
v.-hole  thing  was  a  blasphemous  parody,  from  which  she  shrank 
in  horror,  and  she  could  hardly  foi-give  Balmat  for  his  pro- 
posal to  escort  her.  '  But  you  would  s?e  David,'  he  urged, 
siirp]-ised  at  her  indignation,  on  which  she  had  turned  away 
almost  ready  to  quarrel  seriously  with  him.  He  had  no  time 
to  stay  to  reason,  and  hurried  off,  while  she  was  anxiously 
counting  how  much  money  remaiaed  after  paying  the  week's 
rent,  due  that  day,  and  sure  to  be  punctually  claimed  by 
Madelon.  Indeed,  her  step  was  heard  almost  before  Edmee 
had  the  money  ready,  but  she  came  iu  with  red  eyes,  and  so 
little  of  her  usual  alacrity  in  receiving  her  money  that  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  enquired  in  wonder  what  had  troubled 
her.  She  struggled  \n.t\x  a  sob  befoi-e  she  could  answer.  '  It 
is  Cvocq,  madame.  my  man ...  he  has  been  listening  again  to 
some  of  his  imbecile  friends,  who  tell  him  that  I  keep  him 
under  my  slipper,  as  if  it  were  not  all  for  his  good,  and  he 
says  .  .  .  says  ...  he  shall  divorce  me  for  "  incomj^atibilite 
d'humeur.'" 

'  My  poor  Madelon  ! '  cried  Edmee,  indignantly.  *  You 
who  are  so  good  a  wife,  and  woi-k  so  hard  to  keep  all  straight ! ' 

'  Do  I  not,  madame  1  Is  it  not  so  %  But  what  does  that 
count?  A  woman  must  go  up  and  down  the  house,  must 
tramp  out  in  rain  and  mud  all  day,  while  the  man  is  at  his 
cafe,  reading  the  Sentinelle  de  la  Nation,  and  Avhen  he  comes 
home,  does  he  say,  "Art  thou  tired,  ma  bonne  amie  ?"  not 
he  !  It  is  "  Where  then  is  my  sixpper  1 "  "  Give  me  money," 
the  money  which  she  has  been  working  her  ten  fingers  off  to 
earn,  and  then  he  pockets  it,  v.dthout  so  much  as  a  "  Thank 
you,"  and  well  if  she  does  not  get  a  blow  !  Ah,  it  is  a  hard 
life,  that  of  a  woman  ! ' 


194  NOBLESSE  OBLIOE. 

'  But,  after  all,  my  good  IVIadelon,  yoii  would  be  better  off 
without  him,'  sugnjested  Madomoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 

'  I  am  not  so  siu-e  of  that,  madame,'  answered  iNladelon, 
hastily ;  '  he  is  not  much  worse  than  others.  It  is  veiy  diffi- 
cult to  1h>  a  man,  and  imitate  the  saints.* 

'  But  if  you  were  free  of  him  you  would  have  all  your 
earniaigs,  and  a  quiet  house.' 

*  Yes,  yes,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  of  him  that  I  think  !  What 
will  become  of  him  if  I  am  not  there  to  take  caie  of  him  1  If 
you  only  knew  what  a  poor  wretch  he  was  before  I  married 
him,  and  to  think  that  he  may  return  to  that  condition !  It 
bi-eaks  my  heart!'  and,  throwing  her  aj)ron  over  her  head, 
she  went  out  sobbing  aloud,  and  forgetting  for  once  to  count 
her  money.  Edm^e  took  her  embroidery,  hoping  by  industry 
to  gain  time  to  paint  a  little ;  Balmat  took  gi-eiit  and  gene- 
rous delight  in  her  talent,  encouraged  and  advised  her,  and, 
though  unsuccessful  himself,  proved  an  excellent  critic.  He 
had  brought  her  that  morning  a  handfid  of  lovely  Juno  roses, 
whoso  deejx'st  shades  seemed  only  darkened  light,  which  he 
had  begged  from  an  old  ilower-painter,  whom  he  luiew  some- 
thing of,  who  lived,  like  many  other  artists,  in  the  Louvre. 
Edmeo  listened  with  delight  to  all  that  he  could  tell  her,  and 
longed  to  see  the  beautiful  llowor-pieces  of  which  Balmat 
spoke,  but  he  did  not  give  her  the  slightest  hopes  of  being 
admitted  into  ]M.  Latleur's  studio,  where  no  visitoi-s  were  por- 
mittfd.  She  gathered  that  this  artist  was  old  and  peculiar, 
kind  at  heiii-t,  under  an  a-ssumed  misanthropy,  making  flowers 
take  the  place  of  friends  and  family,  and  would  tliink  to  her- 
self, '  Balmat  has  no  enterprise  !  J  f  I  had  but  time  to  pamt 
seiiously,  I  would  somehow  find  the  way  into  that  atelier  ! ' 
The  need  of  daily  bread  kept  her  closely  to  her  needle,  but  to 
please  ^Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  she  now  came  and  sat  at 
the  window,  where  her  aunt  had  p'aced  herself,  with  the 
*  jMoniteur'  of  that  day  on  her  lap,  divided  between  its  con- 
tents and  observation  of  the  animation  which  pervaded  even 
the  dull  little  street  where  they  lived,  known  in  those  days 
as  the  Rue  du  Bon  Patriote.  All  Paris  was  flocking  to  the 
fete,  and  rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  tranquillity  and  clemency 
which  Ilobespierre's  late  speeches  in  the  Convention  had 
held  out. 


A  RECOONITION.  195 

*  See,  there  goes  Pore  Crocq  ! '  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  '  sse  his  ear-rings  and  honnet  rouge  !  and  there  is 
iMichoaiiet,  in  a  ne^v  cravat :  Jook  at  their  bouquets  ! — eveiy- 
one  carries  flowers  or  boughs  ...  it  reaHy  is  very  pretty. 
.  .  .  That  poor  Madelon  !  if  she  could  but  believe  it,  how- 
much  better  she  would  be  without  that  husband  of  hers  ! 
"Women  are  silly  creatures.  That  pale  thing  on  oui-  floor, 
however,  seems  to  live  wcU  with  her  hvisband.  I  have  seen 
nothing  of  them  lately,  beyond  the  childi-en  playing  on  the 
staii-s.' 

'  ]\Iadelon  is  talking  to  Madame  Amat  now  ;  do  you  not 
hear  ?  She  seems  angiy ;  perhaps  they  cannot  pay  her. 
Ah,  the  poor  husband  is  ill ;  they  want  Madelon  to  go  for  a 
doctor.' 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aisrnan  was  not  att?ndinar.  Her 
eyes  had  passed  from  the  list  of  theatrical  entertainments 
given  in  the  '  Moniteur  '  to  the  death-list,  always  given  next 
it,  and  a  name  there  had  struck  her. 

*  What  do  you  say  ?  Yes,  cei-tainly.  See  what  can  be 
done,'  she  answered  absently,  her  chief  wish  just  then  being 
to  get  rid  of  Edmee,  who  went  aci"oss  the  landing  to  ask  if 
she  could  help  her  poor  neighbour,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  hastily  read  a  paragraph  which  she  had  discovered 
fui-ther  on,  announcing,  in  the  usual  inflate!  style  of  the 
'Moniteur'  that  the  EepubKc  had  done  justice  on  certa'n 
culprits  found  guilty  of  defrauding  the  nation  to  their  own 
private  advantage.  Among.-?t  them  was  the  name  of  Jacques 
Leroux. 

'  An  excellent  thing ! '  was  her  inward  comment,  '  he 
woiild  have  been  unsneakablv  in  the  wav  bv  and  by,  if  order 
ever  come  out  of  this  chaos,  and  no  doubt  he  richly  deserved 
what  he  has  got.  Such  a  live  father-in-law  would  have  been 
a  disgrace  to  the  Chevalier,  but  a  father-in-^ aw  who  was 
guillotined  is  rather  comme  il  faxit.  Still,  thoiigh  the 
child  is  not  likely  to  regret  him,  it  may  be  well  she  should 
not  see  aU  this,'  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  got  tho 
newspaper  out  of  sight  befoi-e  Edmee  came  back.  '  Madelon 
will  not  go,'  she.  said,  looking  troubled.  *  She  says  that  she 
cannot  leave  the  house  when  neither  Crocq  nor  Michonnet  is 
at  home,  and  that  poor  Amat  is  seriously  ill  ! ' 


106  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  "Would  you  have  me  leave  the  rez  de  chanssee  empty,  and 
on  a  flay  like  this,  when  all  the  thieves  are  astir,  lookinEj  for 
houses  whose  inhabitantss  aie  fools  enout^h  to  desert  them  1 ' 
cried  Madelon  ani^i-ily  from  the  landinij-p^ace.  Her  own 
trouble  had  ma  le  her  unsympathetic  for  those  of  others, 
'Send  your  ijirl,  nm  bonne/' 

'  J  have  already  told  you  thnt  Vier:;ie  is  gone  instead  of 
me  to  work,  since  I  could  not  Iwive  my  poor  husband,*  wailed 
the  wife,  wriniijini;  hf-r  hands.  *  Holy  Vivc'in  help  us !  ho 
will  d:e  Wfore  night  unless  we  have  ^I.  Collot.' 

'  People  do  not  die  so  easily  as  all  that,  and  none  of  us 
get  just  what  we  want  when  we  please,'  said  IVIadelon, 
ti^amping  downstairs,  the  more  surly  because  her  conscience 
pricked  hor. 

'  Has  he  been  ill  long  ] '  Edmde  a.sked,  standing  in  her 
dooi'way. 

'  Not  now,  citoyenne,  but  once  before  he  had  a  similar 
attack,  and  that  good  Dr.  Collot,  of  whom  you  may  have 
heai'd,  cured  him,  V)ut  he  bade  me  send  for  him  at  once  and 
lose  no  time  if  the  attack  returned.  .  .  .  See  how  ill  he  is ! ' 

Through  the  opposite  door  Edmee  could  .see  the  gaimt, 
iinshaven  ligure,  crouched  in  a  chair,  unable  to  suppre.s.s 
groans  of  pain,  while  several  little  children  huddled  together 
aflrighted. 

'  Is  there  nothing  you  can  do  1 '  asked  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan,  coming  forward. 

*  Yes,  a  little ;  I  have  poultices  almost  ready,  but  it  is 
the  doctor  that  we  need ;  he  lives  Rue  Dubois,  near  the 
place  de  la  Kevolutiou.  If  I  could  but  leave  my  husband 
.  .  .  but  I  dare  not,  as  you  see.' 

Her  imploring  eyas  sought  those  of  Edmee,  who  hesitated, 
struggling  with  her  dislike  and  fear  of  going  out  this  day, 
and  into  the  very  part  of  Paris  where  the  throng  would  be 
gi'eatest,  since  tlie  crowning  scene  of  the  fete  was  to  take 
place  in  the  Champ  de  Mars.  '  I  will  go,'  she  said,  at  last ; 
'  dear  aunt,  you  do  not  object  1  I  v.ill  not  be  long  gone. 
"What  number  1 ' 

She  went  downstairs  and  out  of  the  house  before  her 
neighbour's  thanks  were  ended ;  Madelon  saw  her  go,  and 


A  RE'JOGNITIOK  197 

miitterod  angrily,  '  It  is  always  those  who  make  most  noise 
who  get  most  pity,'  but  she  carried  up  a  bowl  of  soup  later, 
which  the  children  Avere  very  glad  of,  even  if  the  sick  man. 
could  not  eat  it,  and  after  that  a  conviction  came  upon  her 
that  Crocq  would  come  home  with  wiser  thoughts  than  those 
he  had  gone  away  with,  as  indeed  proved  the  case,  and  she 
fslt  much  more  in  charity  with  her  suiToundings. 

Edmee,  as  she  had  expected,  found  all  the  world  in  the 
streets,  with  a  gay  and  holiday  air  such  as  Paris  always 
readily  assumed,  even  in  such  times  as  these,  and  the  green 
leaves  and  flowers  carried  by  everyone  made  the  streets  like 
a  shifting  parterre.  Garlands  and  flags  hung  from  eveiy 
window,  and  wreathed  eveiy  balcony;  gay  and  animated 
faces  looked  out  from  amid  the  frames  of  blossoms  and 
foliage ;  the  air  was  full  of  the  delicious  scent  of  roses,  which 
had  been  brought  into  the  city  from  twenty  leagues  round, 
to  adorn  the  houses  and  strew  before  the  procession.  There 
was  a  univei'sal  hum  of  conversation,  songs  and  laughter,  but 
as  she  went  along  her  ear  caught  remarks  whose  audacity 
astonished  her.  In  fact,  though  spies  were  evei-ywhere,  it 
was  and  always  had  been  impossible  to  bridle  Parisian 
tongues,  and  Robespieire  could  no  more  do  it  than  the  kings 
whom  the  French  had  learned  to  consider  their  worst 
enemies.  The  crowd  of  spectators  poured  out  of  every  street, 
alley  and  house,  and  bore  her  easily  along,  while  the  general 
gaiety  and  excitement  affected  even  her,  little  as  she  was 
attuned  to  them.  She  reached  the  house  indicated  to  her, 
and  was  g'ad  to  find  the  physician  at  home,  and  to  receive  a 
promise  that  he  would  not  fail  to  visit  the  Maison  Crocq 
early  in  the  day,  but  when  she  tried  to  make  her  way  back 
against  the  stream,  she  found  the  attempt  impossible.  The 
throng  was  now  so  dense  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore  that  she 
could  only  slip  into  a  doorway  and  wait,  an  unwilling  though 
far  from  vininterestecl  spectator.  As  was  joyfully  observed, 
the  guillotine  had  been  removed  from  its  usual  place  the 
evening  before,  and  as  all  fondly  hoped  for  ever.  Before  the 
Tuileries  a  long  arcade  had  been  erected,  garlanded  with 
flowei"3  and  foliage  ;  A\T.thin  was  the  tribune  and  amj^hi- 
theatre  prepared  for  the  Convention,  and  the  question  ^saa 


t- 


198  NOBLESSi:  OBLTGB. 

h\\7.7.o:\  on  all  sides,  what  was  to  bo  sjiiil  oi*  done  from  this 
tril^uue,  which  seeniod  pvojiared  for  some  special  piu']:)Oi.e. 
Someone  asserted  that  Kol)t>spierTe  would  proclaim  a  general 
amueaty  from  it,  and  the  siiscestion  ran  at  once  through  the 
crowd,  and  was  received  with  a  deep  min-mur  of  delight 
which  sliowed  that  Paris  was  weary  of  blood  and  weeping. 
AVhat  indeed  could  be  more  ajjjiropriate  to  such  a  fete  1  The 
po))ular  excitement  rose  hitxher  every  moment,  and  the 
tlirong  <,Tew  more  and  more  den.se  ;  rumourd  were  circulated 
rapidly  through  the  s]>ectators  witliin  the  court^yard  and 
gardens  to  the  less  fortunate  ones  outside,  reporting  what  was 
takiug  place.  The  memlters  of  the  Convention  were  coming  ; 
they  were  taking  theii*  seats  ;  the  procession  would  soon 
arrive ;  only  llobespierre  was  not  there  ...  he  was  still  at 
home  .  .  .  no.  he  was  coming,  no.  again;  he  wa.s  breakfasting 
in  the  Pavilion  dt;  I'lore  .  .  .  breakfasting,  while  everyone 
was  waiting  !  .  .  .  impossible.  So  it  proved  however,  and 
tliough  acc'amations  from  the  mol)  welcomed  him  as  he 
hurried  to  his  p'ace,  his  colleagues  received  him  in  dis- 
pleased and  sigiiilicant  silence,  and  scarcely  listened  to  his 
ppeech,  fragments  of  which  alone  reached  the  spectators. 
•  Wliat  is  he  saying  I  What  dcjes  he  promi.se  us  ? '  cried  those 
in  tlie  .streets,  trying  vainly  to  press  into  the  interior  of  the 
Tuilerics.  '  Let  tyrants  perish  ]  Good.  What  else  1  what 
else  ? '  and  a  cliill  of  disappointment  fell  on  all  when  nothing 
more  definite  could  l>e  gathered.  The  swa\"ing,  shifting  crowd 
brought  now  one  wave,  now  another,  of  eager,  upraised  faces 
past  the  step  whei-e  Edmce  stood,  raised  a  little  above  the 
rest  ;  in  the  incessant  murmiu's  which  reached  lier  eai-s  she 
caught  one  which  sent  the  blood  to  her  heart  with  alarm  ;  a 
few  bai"s,  whistled  low  but  distinctly,  of  the  well-known 
Royalist  aii-,  '  O  Eichard  ]  u  mon  roi  I '  '  It  can  b-e  no  one 
but  Isnard  ! '  was  her  instant  thought,  and  looking  round, 
saw  Isnard  himself,  whom  she  knew  well  from  a  poilrait  of 
Pal  mat's,  and  the  glimpses  she  had  had  of  him  when  he 
assisted  in  the  elopement  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  No 
one  had  noticed  his  mad  bravado  ;  he  had  a  veiy  pretty  girl 
on  his  arm,  and  was  speaking  laughingly  to  her  when  Edmee 
touched  him.    He  started  and  turned  sharply  round,  with  a 


A  REGOGmTION.  199 

hand  on  something  in  the  breast  of  his  coat,  but  liis  mobile 
face  lighted  with  a  smile  as  he  recognised  her.     '  Yon  here  ! ' 
he  cried.     A  few  words  explained  the  cii-ciimstances,  and  he 
put  the  girl  under  his  charge  beside  her,  contriving  to  keep 
just  belovN^  them,  until  they  took  pity  and  laughingly  made 
room  for  him  between  them,  as  the  crowd  divided  right  and 
left,  regardless  of  the  mercileijs  pressure  inflicted  on  the  ranl^s 
behind,  to  allow  the  procession  to  pass  to  the  Champ  de  INIars. 
The  members  of  the  Convention  led  it.  in  a  double  column, 
with  tricoloiu-  plumes  and  scarfs,  each  caiTying  a  bouquet  of 
poppies,  corn-flowers,  and  ripe  wheat ;  one  man,  by  chance 
or  because  the   others   had    designedly  fallen  behind  him, 
walked  first  and  alone,  and  his  dress,  of  a  paler  blue  than  his 
companions',  his  bouquet,  still  larger  than  theirs,  increased 
the  im])ression  that  he  was  master,  and  the  others  merely  his 
attendants,  but  his  stop  was  embarrassed,  his  eyes  downcast; 
he  raised  them  furtively  as  he  went  by  the  spot  where  Edmee 
stood,  and  the  singular,  snake-like  look  sent  a  cold  shiidder 
over  her  ;  she  did  not  need  Isnard's  low,  fierce,  '  Ah,  tyrant, 
your  hour-  has  almost  struck  !  '  to  tell  her  that  it  w^as  Ilobes- 
pierre.     No  applause  met  him  now  ;  the  spectators  were  ab- 
sorbed in  observing  the  ceremony.      A  voice  a -one  broke  the 
silence  by  calling,  '  Ilo6m  for  the  Commissaii'e  de  la  Conven- 
tion,' and  David  passed  by,   waving  his  hat  with  its  long 
tricolour  plume,  and  trying  to  make  the  different  groups  of 
Republican  officers  keep  in  theu*  places.     Edmee  recognised 
him  too ;  she  had  already  seen  those  hard  black  eyes  and 
slightly   distorted   mouth    in   more   than   one   of    Ealmat's 
sketches,  and  did  not  need  the  explanation  offered  by  her 
pretty  companion  of  '  Louis  David,  our  great  artist ! ' — but 
she  could   scarcely  give  him  a  thought ;  ner  eyes  seemed 
forced  to  follow  Robespierre,  as  shuddering  she  whisperei,  'I 
feel  as   if  a  viper  had  touched  me  !  '     The  girl  beside  her 
laughed  gaily.     '  Ah  bah  ! '  she  cried,  '  why  will  you  let  him 
spoil  to-day  to  us  1   Let  us  enjoy  ourselves;  see  how  blue  the 
sky  is,  how  the  sun  shines  !  hovv  dehghtful  a  crowd  is  !    Ah, 
how  comic  are  these  grave  messieiu's  of  the  Convention,  with 
their  flowers  and  their  plumes  ! — see,  one  is  looking  at  us 
.  ,  .  tie^ns  !  one  would  say  he  knew  us  ...  do  you  see  1 ' 


200  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Edmee  had  not  heeded  the  gay  chatter,  but  now  Isnard 
said  low,  '  Who  is  that  who  looks  across  here  ? '  and  his 
peculiar  tone  made  her  look  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  to 
the  meml.)ersof  the  Convention,  still  slowly  tiliiii;  past.  '  Ah, 
heaven  ! '  she  faltered,  turning  white  to  her  very  lips,  for  the 
eyes  fixed  on  her  with  a  biuniufj,  menacing  look  weie  thos-o 
of  Do  I'elvcn.  Isnard  knew  him  too.  '  Taia-fu,  Luure  !  '  he 
said  hastily,  to  the  gay  girl  at  his  side.  '  That  man  is  her 
enemy  ...  he  can  do  nothing  yet,  he  cannot  leave  his  place, 
or  send  a  .spy  through  this  throng;  we  have  time.  Keep 
where  you  are,'  he  added  to  Edmec  ;  '  wait  till  the  proces.sion 
has  passed.'  At  tii-st  the  novelty,  the  gaiety  of  all  around, 
the  new  feeling  of  having  a  girl  of  her  own  age,  overliowing 
with  light-heartedncss  Ixside  her  had  carried  Kdmee  away ; 
that  brief  moment  of  forgctf-ilness  was  now  cruelly  paid  for. 
She  could  not  imagine  how  it  had  never  occurred  either  to 
her  or  Balmat  that  De  I'elvcn  must  necessai-ily  be  in  his 
place  as  national  representative,  and  that  he  would  not  fail 
to  see  her.  She  stood  imprisoned  by  the  wall  of  hum.tn 
beings  in  front,  still  feeling  his  eyes  on  her,  though  he  had 
passed  on  out  of  sight,  scarcely  conscious  that  the  long  })ro- 
cession  was  pa.«sing  before  the  enchanted  eyes  of  the  spectators, 
who  closed  in  behind  it,  and  Hocked  to  the  Champ  de  Mars, 
where  a  symbolical  mountain  had  been  erected,  where  the 
Convention  and  the  musicians  were  to  sit ;  she  saw  with 
outward  eyes  and  absent  thoughts  the  thousands  of  deputies 
go  by,  .sent  from  all  the  sections  of  Paris,  the  old  men  l)caring 
vine  boughs,  the  young  branches  of  oak,  the  women  tiowci's, 
a  long  array,  twenty-five  thousand  persons,  defiling  towaitls 
the  Champ  de  IMars,  under  the  walls  of  the  Louvie  and  the 
Tuilerles,  across  the  square  where  the  noblest  blood  of  France 
had  flowed  like  a  river ;  sunshine  overhead,  sweet  aii*  around, 
and  as  the  multitude  reached  the  appointed  i^pot,  trumjxits 
sounded,  and  every  voice  was  raised  in  the  hymn  of  prai.se  to 
the  Supreme  Being,  while  fiowei-s  were  llung  in  profusion, 
mothei-s  held  up  their-  children,  men  waved  their  sabres,  and 
Robespierre  sat  enthroned  on  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
with  the  Convention  and  the  multitude  at  his  feet,  with 
an  ominous  pallid  smile,  which  changed  into  a  momentary 


A  RECOONITIOK  201 

look  like  tliat  of  one  who  finds  himself  on  the  efl^fc  of  an 
abyss,  as  a  voice  in  tlie  countless  throng  said  distinctly — 
'  Not  content  to  be  master,  he  makes  himself  God  ! '  A  little 
movement  as  of  frightened  people  recoiling  showed  where  the 
audacious  speaker  stood,  but  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
him.  The  crowd  having  streamed  into  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  left  space  for  Isnard  and  his  t^vo  companions  to 
leave  their  places.  '  Take  her  at  once  to  Giboult's  shop,  you 
know  some  of  them  there,  and  pass  her  through,'  was  IsnaVd's 
brief  direction  to  the  girl  whom  he  was  escorting,  and  he 
added  to  Edmee,  'Ask  no  directions,  lest  they  should  be 
questioned  by-and-by ;  go  to  the  other  door,  turn  right,  then 
left,  and  then  ask  anyone  for  the  Rue  du  bon  Patriote. 
Adieu  ! ' 

*  But  where  shall  I  find  you,  onon  chcr  ?'  asked  his  pretty 
friend. 

'  On  the  Place  ...  I  will  look  out ' — and  he  was  lost  in 
the  crowd,  while  Laure,  good-naturedly  laughing  at  this 
brusque  desertion,  led  P_]dmee  towards  the  large  draper's  shop 
which  Isnard  had  spoken  of.  A  word  or  two  to  the  gr.->up 
who  stood  looking  on  at  the  door  was  recciA-od  with  smiling 
politeness,  and  sufficed' to  explain  that  the  demoiselle  was 
afraid  of  the  crowded  streets,  and  desired  to  go  home  by  a 
quieter  way  than  the  main  thoroughfare,  and  Edmee  took 
farewell  of  her  new  friend,  and  found  herself  in  streets  so 
quiet  and  deserted  on  this  day  that  when  she  wanted  to 
enquii'e  her  road,  she  could  hardly  find  anyone  to  ask.  The 
doctor  had  reacheil  the  Maison  Crocq  before  her ;  the  sick 
man  was  in  less  pain,  and  but  for  the  possible  results  of  her 
expedition,  Edmee  would  have  been  gladdened  by  the  wife's 
thankfulness.  It  was  not  possible  to  tell  Mademois^l'e  de 
St.  Aignan  of  her  fears ;  she  only  related,  as  w^el!  as  she 
could,  what  the  order  of  the  proceedings  had  been,  and  how 
she  had  encountered  Isnard,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
listened  great' y  amused  and  interested,  and  insisted  on  a 
further  account  from  Ealmat,  when  he  returned.  Balmat 
had  not  much  to  say ;  he  reported  that  w^hen  liobespierre  set 
fii-e  to  the  group  of  monsters  representing  Atheism,  Egotism, 
and  Nothingness,  they  bm-ned  readily  enough,  but  the  statue 


202  JVOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

of  Liberty,  instead  of  emerging  pm-e  and  Hiir  from  the  niins, 
when  the  veil  which  they  had  hidden  her  with  was  consumed, 
had  come  out  as  smoky  iis  a  chimney-sweep,  and  that  when 
Robespierre  descended  from  the  mountain  he  was  even  more 
livid  than  usual;  his  lips  wore  trembling,  and  he  hurried 
away,  with  the  Convention  hurrying  after  him,  and  no  one 
could  understand  what  would  happen  next.  Edmee  related 
her  meeting  with  Isnard,  but  waited  for  a  private  moment 
to  tell  Balmat  her  fears.  He  frowned  at  her  pvai.ses  of  the 
pretty  Laure.  '  She  is  not  a  girl  for  you  to  know,'  he 
answei-ed  briefly,  and  changed  the  conversation,  but  after- 
wards said  to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  'Isnard  is  no 
woise  til  an  otheis,  but  do  not  let  him  como  here.' 

*  Why  should  he,  my  good  Balmat  1  We  are  not  likely 
to  have  any  fui-ther  acquaintance  ! '  she  answered,  a  little 
amused  at  the  strait-laced  views  of  the  young  Swiss,  who 
could  not  unlearn  the  good  and  honest  teaching  of  his  home, 
though  thrown  into  the  whirlpool  of  Parisian  life  at  cue  of 
its  most  perilous  moments. 

'  I  do  not  know  .  .  .  when  once  one  comes  across  people, 
it  is  odd  how  sure  one  is  to  meet  them  asjain.'  said  Balmat ; 
and  the  event  proved  him  only  too  much  in  the  right. 


CHAPTEE   XXV. 

HIDE   AND    SEEK. 


The  weeks  which  followed  the  Fete  de  I'fitre  Supreme 
quenched  all  the  hopes  which  had  been  raised  by  Robespierre's 
apparent  inclination  to  clemency ;  alarmed  by  the  discontent 
which  it  excited  among  some  of  his  colleagues,  he  forsot  how 
dangerous  are  disappointe  I  hopes ;  arrests  came  thicker, 
faster  than  ever ;  at  one  time  theie  was  a  razzia  on  all  that 
lemained  of  the  high  magistrature ;  at  another,  all  that  still 
lingered  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  was  swept  away.     On 


HIDE  AND  SEEK.  203 

cue  occasion,  about  ten  days  after  the  fete,  fifty  victims,  in 
the  red  shirt  which  had  hitherto  been  the  costume  to  mark 
assassins  and  pan-icides,  perished  togethei",  under  an  a,ccusa- 
tion  known  to  be  fa'.se,  and  among  them  perished  two  whole 
famihes,  not  one  member,  old  or  young,  escaping.  But  this 
spectacle,  instead  of  strildng  terror  into  Pans,  at  last  called 
forth  an  ind'gnant  protest  from  the  public.  '  It  is  too  much  ? 
it  is  atrocious ! '  was  heard  on  all  sides,  in  defiance  of  the 
danger  in  sympathising  with  the  condemned ;  and  this  re- 
vulsion of  fe3ling  was  as  strong  among  the  lowest  as  the 
higher  classes.  Michonnet  repoi'ted  that  a  man  known  to 
him ,  a  verj^  giant  of  strength  and  stolidity,  had  laid  a  wager 
to  look  on  without  emotion,  as  each  of  the  long  file  of  victims 
moved  on  to  lay  his  head  under  the  knife,  and  that  he  had 
never  stirred  a  musc'e  until  the  last,  a  girl  scarcely  beyoad 
childhood,  a  poor  little  ouvriere  arrested  in  a  garret  on  the 
sixth  floor,  had  quietly  taken  her  place  uncalled,  and  asked 
the  executioner  gently,  '  Is  that  right,  monsieur  1 '  and  then, 
as  the  axe  fell,  the  great  strong  man  had  reeled  and  fallen 
back  in  a  dead  faint,  and  so  was  carried  home  If  people 
like  IVIichonnet's  friend  wei-e  thus  moved,  it  was  cei'tain  that 
others  were  not  only  shocked  and  scandalised,  but  that  a  re- 
action had  begun.  Robespierre  felt  it,  and  drew  back, 
dangerous  and  suiien,  apparently  neglecting  public  affairs, 
scarcely  showing  himself  at  the  Jacobins,  absent  from  the 
Convention,  but  striking  blow  after  blow  from  his  den.  But 
his  power  was  shaken ;  a  shade  of  ridicule  had  attached  itself 
to  his  later  speeches  ;  the  tears,  the  pathos  v/hich  he  called  to 
his  aid  had  struck  the  Parisians,  not  as  acting — that  would 
have  been  suitable,  even  acceptable — but  as  bad  acting,  which 
was  unpardonable.  His  hearers  had  smiled,  and  his  enemies 
had  caught  at  the  weapons  which  he  had  unawares  put  into 
then"  hands.  It  would  have  been  useless  to  tax  him  with 
barbarity,  such  an  accusation  would  have  been  commonplace, 
and  added  to  his  strength  rather  than  lessened  it,  but  no  man, 
standing  before  a  Parisian  audience,  however  terrible,  how- 
ever admirable  he  may  be,  can  make  himself  absurd  with 
impunity.  Robespierre  knew  it,  and  had  sent  Fabre  d' Eg- 
lantine to   the   guillotine   because    he    dieaded    his   pitiless 


204  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

mockery,  but  tliere  were  many  Fabre  d'Eglantines  left  in. 
Paris.  Moreover,  an  enemy  of  a  different  soi't  was  mining 
the  ecroiind  under  his  feet,  whom  he  hafl  unaccountably  for- 
gotten to  behead,  that  Fouche,  destined  soon  to  rise  to  a  bad 
eminence.  Strange  things  leaked  out  through  him,  horrify- 
ing the  devout,  infuriating  the  Democrats,  of  blasphemous 
mysteries  practised  in  the  house  of  Rol^espierrc's  tool,  Cathe- 
rine Theos.  The  belief  spread  that  he  was  aiming  at  dic- 
tatorship, perhaps  monarchy.  He  answered  the  murmurs, 
faint  as  yet,  but  gathering  sti-ength,  by  fresh  measures  to 
purge  the  Republic.  Somehow  or  other,  he  always  discovered 
that  it  was  of  those  dangerous  to  himself  that  the  RepuVjlic 
required  purging.  The  atmosphere  grew  thicker  every  day 
With  crime  and  horror,  but  the  public,  though  cowed,  was  no 
longer  absolutely  dumb  and  passive.  Events  occuri-ed  so  fast 
and  threateningly  that  the  coolest  heads  gi-ew  dizzy.  The 
crimes  of  the  Revolution  seemed  as  it  were  to  be  represented 
by  this  one  man,  standing  aloft,  conspicuous  above  the  rest, 
as  he  had  done  when  he  took  the  topmost  seat  on  the  moun- 
tain erected  in  the  Champ  de  Mars.  The  idea  unavoidably 
suggested  was  to  cast  him  down.  No  one,  not  even  those 
most  in  his  confidence,  knew  how  far  he  was  aware  of  his 
danger,  and  no  one,  not  even  Fouche,  plotting  incessantly  to 
bring  it  about,  nor  Tallien,  whose  hand  was  to  deal  the  blow, 
nor  De  Pelven,  carefully  disentansrlinor  the  threads  which 
connected  them,  but  drawing  away  so  gently  that  even  the 
Argus  eyes  of  Robespieii*  did  not  detect  him,  foresaw  how 
near  the  supreme  moment  was. 

In  some  respects  De  Pelven  was  following  the  same  policy 
as  Robespierre.  He  remained  passive,  awaiting  the  next 
tui'n  in  CA^ents,  but  he  had  made  his  value  fully  appai'ent  to 
Fouche,  of  whose  talents  he  had  always  had  a  very  high 
opinion,  and  who  looked  on  De  Pelven  as  the  man  most  likely 
to  be  useful  to  himse'.f  in  future  days.  They  had  not  much 
commmiication,  but  they  understood  one  another. 

His  withdrawal  fi-om  a  wider  sphere  of  action  gaA'e  De 
Pelven  the  more  leisure  for  prosecuting  the  search  which  he 
had  never  dropped  after  Edmee.  The  sight  of  her  exactly 
when  he  was  iruable  to  utilise  it  had  lashed  him  into  fury, 


HIDE  AI^D  SEEK.  205 

and  lie  had  songlit  her  since  with  a  kind  of  frenzy.  Some- 
times he  visited  the  deserted  Faubourg  St.  Geimain  and  the 
Chaussee  d'Antin,  where  grass  began  to  grow  in  tlie  streets, 
and  between  the  pavement  of  the  courtyards  of  empty  hotels; 
sometimes  he  spent  houi-s  in  the  maze  of  little  streets  round 
the  Cite,  watchinij,  enquii-ing,  observing  the  Avindows,  mad- 
deiied  with  baffled  endeavours,  and  growing  more  absorbed 
in  the  search  each  day  that  it  lasted,  but  never  again  seeing 
the  dark  soft  eyes  which  had  dilated  with  terror  at  the  sight 
of  him  or  the  face  which  had  branched  as  he  looked  on  it. 
Nor,  for  a  long  time,  did  he  succeed  in  what  he  almost  equally 
desii-ed  to  do — identifying  Isnard.  Edmee's  real  danger  lay 
there,  and  he  was  too  acute  not  to  fix  on  this  poiut  and  con- 
centrate his  efforts  on  it.  His  searches  for  her  were  in 
obedience  to  the  fierce  craving  to  find  her  for  himself,  but  it 
was  Isnard  whom  he  looked  to  as  furnishing  the  clue  to  her 
retreat.  To  find  a  man  whose  name,  dwelling,  and  profession 
were  alike  unknown  .seemed  unhopeful,  but  De  Pelven  had 
a  well-founded  belief  in  the  power  of  will,  patience,  and  the 
secret  police  at  his  disposal,  and  felt  certam  that  ere  long  ho 
should  learn  all  three. 

Edmee  could  not  know  from  what  quarter  danger  threat- 
ened her,  but  she  had  been  inclined  to  believe  that  some 
misfortune  must  fall  upon  her  to  expiate  the  sin,  however 
involuntarily,  of  having  been  present  at  tl»e  blasphemous 
fete  of  the  fetre  Supreme.  As  days  passed,  however,  and 
nothing  happened,  the  impression  wore  off",  and  her  nervous 
fears  yielded  to  the  delight  which  sprang  from  an  idea 
brought  home  from  the  very  spectacle  which  she  felt  it  a  sin 
to  have  seen. 

It  was  just  then  the  fashion  to  carry  large  paper  f;xns ; 
she  had  notice  1  dozens  farled  and  unfurled  whi  e  she  stood 
looking  on,  and  her  artistic  eye  had  been  not  only  displeased 
by  the  unadorned  surface,  but  scandalised  by  the  waste  of  so 
much  paper  which  might  have  been  used  for  drawing  on. 
Meditating  later  on  this  it  occuri-ed  to  her  that  the  fins  might 
be  covered  with  wreaths  and  groups.  The  thought  gave  her 
that  thrill  of  joy  known  to  the  discoverer,  whether  of  a 
world  or  a  nevf  thought,  and  she  hastened  to  communicate  it 


2{)Q  XOBL£t:SE  OBLIOE. 

to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  and  Balmat,  who  was  nmcli 
taken  with  the  idea,  but  told  her  that  she  would  be  more 
likely  to  hit  public  taste  by  groups  of  figures  than  by  flowei'S 
alone.  Her  natural  bent  was  for  flower-painting,  but  she 
could  draw  figures  with  sufiic'ent  facility  to  make  it  a  plea- 
sure to  her ;  l:)esides,  they  could  be  garlanded  ^^'ith  flowers. 
Balmat  suggested  sulijects  from  '  Paul  et  Virginie,'  and  the 
poems  of  Ossian,  just  then  the  i-age  in  Paris,  where  they 
were  hailed  as  *  so  primitive,'  and  admired  with  imquestioning 
faith  and  enthusiasm ;  all  DaWd's  pupils  sttidled  them  rap- 
turously, except  indeed  Balmat,  who  could  not  admu-e  them, 
but  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  borrowed  a  copy  for  Edmce 
fi'om  liis  "fellow-pupil,  Maurice  Quai,  who  had  introduced 
them  into  the  atelier.  Edmee  and  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  were  enraptured,  and  though  Ealmat's  inveterate 
good  sense  rendered  him  unable  to  agj  ce  \\*itli  theii'  praises, 
he  heartily  admired  the  result  of  Edmee's  study  of  the 
poems,  even  on  such  an  ungrateful  material  as  her  green 
paper  fans,  and  found  a  large  shop  ready  to  buy  as  many  as 
she  could  furnish.  To  her  great  joy  she  was  now  able  to 
put  aside  her  embroidery  for  her  brush  ;  it  was  not  indeed 
quite  what  she  would  have  chosen,  but  still  it  was  painting, 
and  sometimes  she  had  time  for  more  serious  work  on  canvas. 
Edmee  needed  nothing  to  make  her  art  dearer,  but  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  had  unawares  made  it  more  precious 
than  ever  by  her  casual  mention  of  Alain's  love  of  painting, 
inherited  from  his  mother,  who  had  Italian  blood  in  her 
veins,  and  many  tastes  inherited  from  Italy.  It  had  always 
been  a  matter  of  regret  to  her  that  her  husband  had  shown 
a  narrow  and  marked  avei-sion  to  his  son's  pursuing  the  study 
of  art  seriously,  though  it  had  never  occurred  to  her,  any 
moi-e  than  to  liim,  that  it  was  possible  for  a  man  of  birth 
and  fortune  to  pursue  it  as  a  profession.  The  taste  which 
Edmee  had  always  sho^v^l  from  her  earliest  childhood  for 
painting  had  much  pleased  her,  and  she  had  forwarded  and 
encoiu'aged  it  to  the  utmost,  little  guessing  that  one  day  the 
girl's  talent  would  be  the  means  of  supporting  not  only  her- 
self, but  one  of  the  family  to  which  she  owed  her  first  lessons 
in  art.     That  Alain  should  perhaps  be  Avorking  like  herself 


HIDE  AND  SEEK.  207 

made  a  sweet  and  secret  bond  between  Edmee  and  her  young 
husband,  of  which  she  often  thought,  as  she  bent  over  her 
coloui's  with  looks  which  grew  liappier  every  day,  now  that 
she  could  return  to  her  true  calling.  She  did  not  earn  much, 
biit  daily  bread  was  secure,  not  only  for  herself,  but  what  she 
thought  more  of,  for  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  and  she 
delighted  in  the  task  v/hich  had  gained  it.  Perhaps  no  hap- 
pier condition  could  have  been  found.  Ealmat  brought  her 
flowers,  sometimes  she  went  to  the  Marche  aux  Fleurs  and 
indulged  herself  in  combining  a  bouquet;  often  Madame  Amat, 
grateful  for  the  kindness  sho^vn  when  her  husband  was  ill, 
begged  some  choice  blossom  from  a  brother,  v/ho  had  a  large 
garden,  once  belonging  to  some  noble,  now  the  property  of  the 
nation,  from  which  he  rented  it.  Even  Michonnet  would 
occasionally  bring  home  a  huge  armful  of  leaves  and  flowers, 
with  the  best  of  intentions,  and  the  least  possible  perception 
of  what  could  be  of  any  use,  and  Madelon  took  a  lively  in- 
terest in  everything  wliich  Edmee  produced,  admiring  with 
enthusiasm  equally  unfailing  and  uncritical. 

'  It  is  only  too  good  to  last ! '  Edmee  would  say,  '  Oh,  if  only 
nothing  would  ever  happen  again  ! '  a  sentiment  in  which 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aiguan  was  very  far  from  concurring. 
Her  hankering  after  !De  Pelven  was  the  thorn  in  Edmee's 
new-born  peace.  It  was  less  the  straitened  circumstances 
than  the  inaction  which  tried  her.  Since  her  father's  death 
she  had  led  a  very  independent  life,  allowing  herself  to  be 
accountable  to  no  one,  and  enjoying  unfettered  dominion  over 
her  Httle  kingdom  at  Mortemait.  Besides  this  she  had 
cultivated  and  literary  tastes,  and  none  of  the-e  could  be 
satisfied  in  her  present  life,  where  society  did  not  exist,  and 
literature  could  only  be  obtained  through  the  very  question- 
able libraiy  where  books  were  to  be  hired  from  a  married 
pi-iest,  who  had  settled  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  adopted 
this  means  of  eking  out  a  livelihood.  The  novels  of  that  day 
were  not  such  as  anyone  with  a  gi'ain  of  self-respect  could 
read,  and  he  had  little  else  on  his  shelves.  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  would  not  own  it,  but  life  was  very  dull  to 
her.  Edmee's  painting  was  her  chief  resource,  and  she  could 
stand  by  watching  her  at  work,  and  i-ecaiung  anecdotes  such 


208  KODLESSE  OBLIGE. 

as  Erlmee  lovo^l  to  hear.  The  little  figure-pieces  from  '  Paul 
and  Virginia'  were  especial  favourites  with  her,  for  she  had 
known  Eernardin  de  St.  Pierre  in  a  visit  to  PiU'is.  '  I  was 
here  with  yoiu-  godmother  in  '87,'  she  said  once  as  she  looked 
over  Edmee,  who  was  tlesigning  the  lost  children,  discovered 
in  the  forest,  and  brought  home  by  rejoicing  negi'oes.  '  We 
had  come  with  my  brother,  who  had  some  lawsuits  to  see 
after,  which,  thanks  to  her  relations,  v.e  gained  .  .  .  We 
know  Vernet — Joseph,  1  moan  ;  he  was  seventy-three  that 
year,  and  nevertheless  he  sent  twelve  pictiu-es  to  the  Salon  ! 
'Wo  went  more  than  once  to  his  studio,  and  I  recollect  seeing 
a  jiainting,  just  begui),  of  Yiiginie's  shipwieck  ;  one  saw, 
hoAvever,  that  the  hand  was  losing  its  skill.  He  told  us  how 
he  had  hindered  Bemardin  fiom  throwing  the  manuscript 
into  the  tii-e.  He  had  read  it  aloud  in  Mademoiselle  Keeker's 
salon,  and  she  had  fidgotol  all  the  v/hile,  Buftbn  only  looked 
at  his  watch,  Tlioraus  went  to  sleep,  M.  Necker  smiled  sar- 
castically ...  in  short-  it  was  a  failure,  and  the  poor  author, 
then  unknown  to  f  ime,  was  in  despair.' 

'  A  failure  !     "  Paul  and  Virginia  "  a  failure  !  * 

'  Evt^n  so,  child,  it  was  a  novelty,  and  sometimes,  when  a 
novelty  is  good  for  anythiug,  it  requires  courage  frankly  to 
admire  it.  You  pledge  youi-self,  as  it  were,  for  its  success. 
"  ilea  1  it  to  me  while  I  paint."  Vernet  sa"d,  but  soon  he 
could  not  paint,  he  could  only  listen.  "  Publish  !  publish  !  " 
he  cried,  and  wo  all  know  the  verdict  which  has  since  been 
pa3S3d  on  the  little  cJi"/  d'^uvre.' 

Madeiuoi33lle  de  St.  Aignan  possessed  in  2)erfK'tion  the 
delightful  ai-t  '  de  raconter.'  Edmee  was  never  wearied  of 
her  reminiscences,  and  looked  up  now  with  a  question  intended 
to  lead  her  on,  when  the  words  were  arrested  on  her  lips  by 
hearing  someone  dashing  up  the  stairs,  the  door  was  flung 
open,  and  as  hastily  shut,  as  Isnard  rushed  in,  breathless. 

'  Hide  me  .  .  .  find  some  place  to  conceal  me  ! '  he  cried, 
hold  ng  the  door  fist,  and  looking  round  like  a  hunted  animal. 

'  Heavens  !  what  has  happened  ] '  exclaimed  iiSIademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan,  *  who  are  you,  monsiem-,  and  what  can  we  do 
for  you  ] ' 

'  It  is  M.  Isnard,  aunt,  who  helped  to  bring  you  here .  .  . 


HIDE  AND  SEEK.  209 

whom  I  met  on  the  clay  of  that  fearful  fete,'  said  Edm^e, 
rising  in  great  alarm. 

'  Yes,  yes,  and  it  is  owing  to  that  day,  to  that  meeting, 
I  am  in  this  danger.  That  bloodhound  Pelven  has  ha.d  his 
eye  on  me ;  he  thinks  to  find  you  through  me  ...  I  have 
been  watched  and  dogged,  I  knew  it  .  .  .  Laiu-e  has  sent  mo 
word.  I  had  a  message  just  now  to  bid  me  not  come  home  .  .  . 
as  I  turned  the  corner  of  this  street  I  saw  two  men  in  wait 
for  me,  and  bai-ely  gave  them  the  slip.  It  is  yon  who  have 
brought  me  into  this  danger,  you  must  hide  me  ! ' 

He  seemed  frantic  with  terror,  unable  to  listen,  unable  to 
hear  reason. 

'  Alas,  monsieur,  how  can  we  ! — look  round,  there  is  not 
a  place  to  conceal  anyone,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
looking  at  the  bai-e  room. 

'  There  is  a  wardrobe ! '  he  answered,  springing  to  the 
doors  of  the  tall  piece  of  furniture,  and  pulling  them  violently 
open. 

*Tt  would  be  the  fii'st  place  searched.  If  we  owed  you 
no  gi-atitude,  we  should  assuredly  gladly  help  anyone  in 
distress,  but  see — how  can  we  1 ' 

He  did  not  listen.  '  It  is  for  you  that  I  am  in  danger, 
save  me,  you  must  save  me  ! '  he  repeated,  and  then,  as  steps 
were  heard  coming  he  rushed  to  the  window,  ready  to  fling 
himself  out  to  ceitain  death. 

'  It  is  Madelon,  it  is  only  our  proprietaire,'  exclaimed 
Edmee,  and  he  understood  enough  to  draw  back,  though  his 
look  and  manner  alarmed  the  two  defenceless  women  even 
more  than  the  danger  which  he  had  brought  them  into. 
Madelon  had  heard  him  fly  upstaii-s,  and  was  come  to  see 
who  had  entered  so  unceremoniously.  Edmee  told  her  how 
things  stood. 

'  Isnard  .  .  .  my  nephew  has  spoken  of  him,'  said  she. 
'  Yes,  yes,  I  understand,  he  has  got  into  trouble  like  other 
peop'e.  Well,  we  must  do  what  we  can;  I  hid  two  j^eople 
before  you  came,  in  this  very  room,  and  I  daresay  he  will  not 
be  the  last.  Here,  help  me,  citoyen  fugitive ;  move  out  this 
wardrobe  ;  we  must  get  it  back  as  we  can.  Do  you  see,'  as 
Isnard,  calmed  by  the  ready  oflfer  of  a  refuge,  obeyed  her, 


^10  AOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  there  is  a  deep  doorway  1  No  one  would  suspect  it,  and  I 
will  not  say  that  it  is  loxiuious  to  live  in  it,  since  you  can 
only  stand  upi'i^ht,  but  firet  one  priest,  then  another,  were 
veiy  jjlad  to  1x3  there  during  the  days  of  September.  If  you 
are  willing  to  run  the  risk,  I  am,  mesdames.' 

'  !My  good  Madelon  !  that  we  are  ! ' 

'  I\Iake  haste  then,  monsieur ;  I  think  I  hear  visitors 
dowustaii-3,  alre;uly,  who  may  not  1)0  welcome  to  you.  Luckily 
my  husb:md  is  out,  and  Michonnet  is  discreet.  Ah,  they 
know  him  ;  they  ai-e  questioning  him  ...  no  matter.' 

The  wai'drobo  was  scarcely  in  its  place  before  the  gens- 
d'armes  entered.  They  observed  the  troubled  faces  of  Edmee 
and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  suspiciously.  '  Your  cartes 
civil'.s,  citoyonnes  ? '  they  asked.  The  cartes  civilcs  were  un- 
exceptionably  correct.  It  had  never  Ijeen  difficidt  to  procure 
forged  ones,  as  many  Royalists,  who  hnunted  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  drank  and  gamed  and  conspired  there,  knew  very 
well,  but  the  gens-d'armes  were  satisfied,  only  asking,  *  What 
was  the  noise  we  heard  just  now  1  * 

The  citoyenne  here  moved  her  table  for  a  better  light,' 
an.swered  ^ladelon  promptly. 

One  of  the  men  had  a  turn  for  liotauy,  ai)parently.  He 
stood  looking  with  appi'oval  at  Edmee's  flowers,  and  then 
coolly  took  up  her  painting,  and  called  his  comi-ade's  atten- 
tion to  the  little  half-tinished  group  of  ligines. 

*  Perhaps,  citizen,  you  know  the  story?'  said  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan,  amiably,  '  the  little  book  of  Rernardin — '  .she 
stopped  herself  just  in  time  before  adding  the  forbidden  de 
St.  Pierre. 

'  Bernai'din  ]  he  speaks  in  our  section  ;  he  is  a  good  patriot ; 
you  mean  the  shoemaker  of  Avhom  eveiyone  has  heard  ?  our 
gi-eat  orator,'  said  the  man,  evidently  tiattei-ed.  '  I  did  not 
know  that  he  had  written  a  book,  but  no  doubt  it  is  he. 
What  is  it  about  \  ' 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  found  herself  called  on  to 
'  raconter '  unexpectedly.     She  did  so  with  spii-it  which  de- , 
lighted  the  gens-d'armes  and  ]\IadeVn,  and  amazed  Edmee, 
tremlding  lest  Isnard  should  betray  his  hiding-place  by  some 
sound.  ' 


HIDE  AND  SEEK.  211 

'  Thank  you,  citoyenne,  it  is  as  good  as  healing  Bernardin 
speak.  What  a  pity  yon  cannot  come  and  make  speeches  at 
our  section  ;  I'll  answer  for  it  you  would  be  listened  to ! — So 
Bernardin  wrote  that  book  .  ,  .  what  a  wonderful  man  he  is  ! ' 

'  Perhaps  it  was  a  relation,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  suppressing  a  laugh  with  difficulty. 

'  The  poor  little  gii-l ! '  said  the  man,  and  there  were  tears 
in  his  eyes,  '  if  I  had  been  there  I  would  have  got  her  some- 
how safe  to  land,  whether  she  liked  or  not.  I  will  tell  my 
wife  that  story,  and  our  next  girl  shall  be  called  Virginie, 
that's  settled.  See,  Antoine,  these  are  good  patriots,  they 
read  Bernardin's  books,  and  the  little  one  makes  very  pretty 
p!ctui-os  about  them.     I  should  like  that  fon  myself.' 

'  It  is  at  your  service,  citizen,'  said  Edmee,  and  he  opened 
and  shut  it  with  great  satisfaction,  while  his  companion,  who 
had  had  no  cadeaxi,  looked  discontented,  and  obserA^ed,  '  By 
their  faces  when  we  came  in  one  would  have  said  they  had 
half-a-dozen  aristocrats  in  hiding,  and  it  is  I  who  say  so.' 

'  Bvxt,  citizen,  all  of  your  profession  are  not  so  polite  as 
vou ;  we  could  not  tell  that  we  should  have  such  agreeable 
visitors,'  said  IMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 

'  That  is  very  true,  and  we  are  losing  time  wbi'e  the 
rascal  we  are  after  runs  fui'ther/  said  the  happy  possessor  of 
the  fan. 

'  I  should  like  to  look  in  the  cupboard  first,'  said  his  ally, 
throwing  the  doors  open. 

'  Why  a  cat  could  not  hide  there  .  .  .  come,  I  say.' 

'  But  there  may  be  someone  behind  it.' 

He  gave  a  pull ;  Madelon  advanced — '  Take  care,  citizen, 
let  me  help  you  ;  you  will  pinch  your  fingers  thus.' 

Perhaps  she  contrived  that  it  should  be  so ;  at  all  events 
he  drew  back,  shaking  his  fingers  with  a  malediction  on  the 
wardi'obe. 

'  Here,  let  me  look  ;  nothing,  as  I  thought,'  said  the  giher 
man,  '  but  we  have  not  searched  overhead  yet.' 
^  He  dragged  his  companion  off,  nui-sing  his  fingers.  No 
one  spoke  until  the  men  were  lieard  comin»_<;lown  from  Ba^- 
mat's  empty  room;  and  examining  the  Amats.  Then  they 
looked  at  each  other,  with  unspeakable  relief.     Their  hearts 


212  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

sank  a,2jaiii  as  the  door  opened,  and  the  first  of  the  gens-d'annes 
looked  in,  but  it  was  only  to  say,  '  Good  day,  citoyennes,  it  is 
all  right, — a  fan  makes  a  good  screen  sometimes  ! ' 

He  laughed  and  ran  doM-nsta'i-s  after  his  companion. 
They  did  not  know  whether  he  had  only  said  it  to  f lighten 
them,  or  if  he  had  purposely  shut  his  eyas.  In  any  case  the 
danger  was  over  for  the  time.  They  released  Isuard,  who 
came  out  of  his  niche  as  cool  as  he  had  before  been  unnerved. 
'  80  far  so  good,'  he  said,  '  in  a  few  d<ays  I  shall  be  al)le  to 
dispose  of  myse'f  elsewhere  ;  until  then,  ladies,  I  must  accept 
your  kind  hospitality  ;  no  doubt  that  good  Balmat  will  give 
me  a  bed  at  night.' 

Will  not  Laure  be  anxious  1 '    F-dmeo  could   not  help 
asking. 

'  I  suppose  so.     It  cannot  be  helped.' 

'  But  she  may  be  in  danger  ' — Edmee  could  not  forget  the 
gay  and  smiling  girl,  and  felt  for  her  more  than  it  seemed 
Isnard  did  ;  but  now  he  Hashed  into  the  fierceness  which 
underlay  his  surface  nonchalance.  '  If  anyone  hurt  a  hair  of 
her  head  I  will  have  his  life,'  he  answered. 

'  It  was  by  her  you  were  warned  ? '  asked  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan,  stai-tled  by  the  fury  expressed  in  every  line  of  his 
plastic  features  ;  '  you  do  not  Icnow  what  has  become  of  her  1 ' 

'  How  should  I  ]     I  could  only  think  of  myself.' 

*  Exactly,'  she  murmured,  observmg  him  with  a  curious 
little  smile,  and  afterwaids  she  said  to  Edmee,  '  That  young 
man  is  dangerous,  and  he  is  titteriy  selfish  ;  if  he  lovori  it  is 
because  the  thing  loved  belongs  to  himself;  he  is  his  own  first 
thought.' 

Isnard  showed  no  anxiety  during  the  three  days  which  he 
remained  either  about  himse.f,  or  Laure,  or  the  inconvenience 
and  danger  which  his  presence  brought  upon  his  hostesses. 
He  considered  that  he  had  paid  his  quota  to  ill-luck,  and  could 
not-  be  called  on  to  pay  tribute  again  for  a  long  time  to  come, 
and  his  faith  in  his  good  foitune  entirely  revived.  He  made 
himself  charmingly  agreeable,  but  testified  no  gi-atitudo  to< 
anyone,  nor  did  he  think  it  woitli  while  to  apologise  to  Ba  mat 
for  taking  possession  of  his  bed.  It  was  indeed  a  feature  of 
the  time^  that  people  were  continually  found  ready  to  risk 


THE  9TH  OF  THERMIDOR.  213 

their  lives  for  strangers  whose  very  names  were  unknown  to 
them,  Imt  usually  a  little  more  giatitude  was  shown  than 
Esnard  d'splayed.  No  one,  beyond  the  few  in  the  secret,  sus- 
pected his  presence,  but  his  entei-tainers  never  were  free  from 
the  fear  of  another  domiciliary  visit,  and  Madelon  was  much 
afraid  of  any  hint  of  the  matter  reaching  Pere  Crocci,  who 
might  babble  it  all  out  when  he  had  had  too  much  wine ;  and 
when  at  last  Isnard  departed,  with  some  gi'aceful  thanks,  they 
all  breathed  a  great  de^l  fieer,  however  good  company  they 
had.  found  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

THE    9th    of    THERMIDOR. 


*  So  that  is  the  great  poet  of  our  insular  neighbours ! '  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  yrith.  some  wonder  and  a  tinge 
of  contempt,  as  she  laid  down  a  volume  of  Letomiieur's  trans- 
lation of  Shalcspeare  which  Balmat  had  somewhere  borrowed, 
and  took  great  delight  'in.      '  I  never  supposed  that  our  good 
Balmat  was  a  very  critical  judge,  but  still,  fi-om  his  enthusiasm, 
I  expected  batter  things.     One  would  not  look  for  the  polish, 
the  grace  of  a  Corneille  or  a  Racine,  but  I  could  not  have 
conceived  such  breaches  of  the  unities,  such  vulgar  personages 
on  the  sc3ne,  such  as  one  might  meet  with  in  any  street  .   .  . 
three  old  women  capei-ing  round  a  pot :  grave-diggers  jesting 
oVer  their  work — it  is  unimaginable  ! — But  among  the  blind 
a  one-eyed  man  is  king,  and  probably  the  English  have  no 
great  poets  like  ours.     Where  can  that  Balmat  be  1  we  have 
not  seen  him  all  day,  and  I  had  asked  liim  to  share  our  supper.' 
'  Did  you  ! '  said  Edmee,  with  some  alarm,  as  she  placed 
on  the  table  the  oire  dish  which   she  had  prepared,  and  the 
coffee  made  of  dried  peas,  sv/eetened  with  honey,  which  formed 
the  usual  supper  of  many  whose  means  were  far  less  restricted 
than  tlieu-s,  for  nothing  was  more  dangerous  than  to  be  guilty 
of  'luxury,'  and  krxruy  being  a  comparative  term  just  then, 
meant  what  at  another  v/ould  have  been  called  bare  necessaries. 


214  HOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  Tliere  is  abimdance,  ma  bonne  omie,  you  need  not  dis- 
quiet yourself.  Surely  lie  will  come.  Do  you  tliink  the 
poor  fellow  always  has  enough  to  eat? ' 

'  I  often  fear  not,  dear  aunt ;  certainly  at  one  time  he  did 
not,  until  he  gave  part  of  the  day  to  watch-making,  and  he 
actually  left  David's  atelier  because  he  could  not  afford  the 
twelve  francs  a  month  wliich  the  pupils  pay,  but  David  found 
it  out,  and  told  Mm  to  return.' 

'  And  our  Swiss  was  not  too  proud  1 ' 

'  Oh  no,  he  is  too  sensible  for  that,  and  he  is  fev  from  the 
only  one  of  the  sixty  pupils  taught  gi-atis.  He  will  himself 
do  as  much  for  others  later,  if  he  succeed,  and  he  says  that 
his  duty  now  is  to  accept  help,  since  he  cannot  do  without  it.' 

'  There  we  have  the  Swiss,  the  plebeian,'  said  INiademoi- 
selle  de  St.  Aignan  ;  '  it  is  all  very  right,  very  right  indeed, 
but  where  a  Frenchman  would  talk  of  honour,  our  Ealmat 
always  si:)caks  of  duty.     Have  you  not  observed  it  1 ' 

'  Yo3,'  said  Edmee,  but  not  as  if  she  concurred  heartily 
in  the  criticism  ;  '  it  seems  to  me  that  duty  is  a  giand  thing 
if  it  can  make  a  man  so  persevering  and  patient  as  Pa' mat. 
How  I  hope  he  vdW  succeed!  How  hard  he  works!  I 
heard  him  go  out  at  five  this  morning  to  his  anatomy  class.' 

'  And  where  were  you  1 ' 

'  At  work,'  she  admitted,  laughing.  '  I  was  so  afraid  that 
tl:e  flowers  wliich  3Iadelon  brought  me  yesterday  would  fade, 
that  I  could  hardly  sleep  for  longing  for  daylight ;  besides, 
there  were  those  fans  and  screens  to  Jdnish,  so  that  time  had 
to  be  made.' 

'  You  labour  as  hard  as  Ba^mat  himse'f,  my  child  ! ' 

'  It  is  such  Lappiuess  !  especially  when  one  fee'.s  that  one 
is  gettiug  on,  which  he  hardly  ever  does,  poor  fellov/  !  Just 
think — he  goes  several  times  a  week  to  an  anatomy  c-ass 
iroui  five  to  eight ;  he  puts  a  roll  in  his  pocket,  and  eats  it 
on  his  way  to  the  Louvre,  wheie  he  paints  all  the  rest  of  the 
morning  ;  then  watchmaking — liis  fiiend  lets  him  come  for 
half-day's  work  ;  of  an  evening  he  studies  perspective,  and 
all  Decadi  he  labours  ia  his  corner  of  the  Augustin  cloister, 
and  he  calls  that  his  holiday  ! ' 

'  But  it  is  impossible  that  he  should  not  make  progress, 


THE  QTB  OF  THEBMWOR.  3I5 

unless  he  lias  aHogetiier  aj^assion  malheureuse  for  painting  ! ' 
'  He  does,  but  the  eflbrt  of  imagining  a  composition  is  so 
gi'eat  that  it  is  always  discoiu'agiag  and  depi-essing  to  him, 
and  colour  always  seems  to  baffle  him.  David  says  that  he 
has  a  really  original  way  of  seeing  and  rendeiing  things,  but 
that  his  colouring  is  cold  and  poor,  and  it  is  ti-iie,  that  is  the 
sad  part  of  it  !     But  where  can  he  be "? ' 

'  All  the  men  of  the  house  are  absent :  Croca  has  not 
come  in,  I  know,  for  Madelon  is,  as  she  would  say  herself,  as 
ill-tempered  as  a  red  ass,  and  Amat  is  still  absent — so  is 
Michonnet.' 

•  There  must  be  some  reason  for  it ;  v/hat  can  be  hap- 
jiening  ?  And  it  seems  strange  not  to  know  at  all  Avhether 
Isnard ' 

'  Hush  ! '  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  turning  pale, 
and  Edmee  stood  motionless  with  teri'or,  as  they  heard  the 
heavy  tramp  in  the  street  wliich  genei-ally  announced  a 
domiciliary  visit.  Tliey  held  their  breath  ;  the  steps  went 
on ;  '  On^y  the  patrol,'  each  wliispered,  and  "wdth  a  simiil- 
taneous  impulse  they  clasped  each  other  close.  Ma'delon  was 
heard  coming  upstairs  to  say  that  there  was  an  order  from 
the  police  that  every  house  should  be  illuminated. 

'  But  why  ?  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  had  such  an  order. 
What  does  it  meau  1 ' 

'  I  know  not  .  .  .  some  nonsense  of  the. Convention  .  .  . 
It  seems  that  there  is  a  toJni  hoJni  in  the  city,  but  I  know 
nothing  about  it.  If  you  open  the  window  you  can  hear  for 
yourselves.' 

Edmee  did  so,  and  a  deep  sullen  hum  was  audible,  above 
which  rose  the  roll  of  drums  and  ominous  clang  of  the 
tocsin. 

'  Heavens !  they  are  beating  the  generale !  the  tocsin  is 
linging  !  how  was  it  we  did  not  hear  it  sooner  1 '  exclaimed 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  in  gi-eat  agitation.  '  What  can 
be  happening  1 ' 

*  Perhaps  another  massacre  in  the  prisons,'  said  IMadelon, 
who,  being  thoroughly  out  of  humour,  was  inclined  to  sug- 
gest the  most  gloomy  possibilities  she  could.  '  Crocq  was 
talking  yesterday,  — but  I  never  listen  to  what  he  says — and 


oiG  KODLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Michonnet  too  ;  he  declared  that  Ivo)>e3pien-e  had  been  accused 
of  wantiui^  to  be  long  instead  of  Capet — I  daresay  it  was 
tiiie,  for  where  there  are  slaves  a  tyranc  is  never  Ion;,'  away.' 

'Is  it— can  it  Ix;  true?  If  that  belief  have  sjn-ead  he 
stands  on  the  edge  of  his  gravel'  said  ^Mademoiselle  ile  St. 
Aignan,  instantly  ixrceiviug  liow  ti-euienilous  would  be  the 
eirect  of  such  an  jiccusatiijn. 

'  I  know  not,'  answered  ISIadelon,  with  provoking  indif- 
ference ;  '  liowcver  tliat  may  l>o,  it  will  not  biing  Crocq  home 
eai'lier  from  tho  estainiwt,  I  suppose.' 

'  But  listen,  only  listen,  aunt !  '  cried  Edm6e,  who  had 
been  Ifauiug  from  the  window,  regardless  of  the  night  air 
which  nearly  blew  out  the  caudles,  set  there  in  obedience  to 
the  police  ordoi-s.  '  Hear  how  the  noLse  is  increasing;  it  is 
like  great  waves  of  sound  from  every  jiai-t  of  the  city,  and 
there — theie — surely  that  can  bo  nothing  but  cannon  and 
ammuiution- waggons  rolling  pa-st  the  end  of  the  street !  Oh, 
if  we  could  but  see  I ' 

'  Ocitainly  .something  veiy  sti-ange  is  happening,'  said 
IMadelon,  roused  out  of  her  ill-humour ;  '  none  of  oin-  men 
have  come  in,  even  Balmat,  who  is  moi-e  regular  than  a 
clock,  anil — f;ices  at  every  window,  now,  do  you  see,  and 
before  I  came  up  there  was  a  stir  .  ,  .  but  what  numbers 
begin  to  lun  down  the  street !     AMiat  can  it  be  ? ' 

'  What  can  it  be  ] '  re])eate  J  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
and  tho  timid  voice  of  their  fellow-lodger,  !Madame  Amat, 
echoed  the  question,  as  she  came  in,  with  a  child  in  her  aims, 
and  two  more  clinging  to  her  skirts,  and  all  the  pale,  anxious 
faces  now  crowding  to  everv  window  and  door  .•^eeme  1  to  ask 
the  same  question,  but  the  habitual  fear  in  which  everyone 
lived,  the  caution  taught  bv  the  times  was  such  that  not  a 
single  remark  was  exchanged  across  the  nanow  street,  and 
all  looked  and  listened  in  silence,  or  said  a  few  words  only 
auflible  to  their  own  families. 

'  There  is  Ba'mat ! '  Edmee  exclaimed,  feeling  as  if  ho 
brought  safety  -n-itli  him,  but  the  flickering  light  of  the  can- 
dles showed  Ids  fece  so  pale  and  agitated  that  they  stood  in 
terror,  and  only  iMadelon  could  ask,  '  What  is  going  on  in  tho 
town  1     Is  there  danger  ? ' 


I 


THE  ^TH  OF  THERMIDOR.  217 

*  God  knows  what  will  happen,'  he  answered,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice ;  '  have  you  then  heard  nothing  1  do  you  not  know 
that  Robespierre  was  accused  in  the  Convention  to-day  ?  the 
scene  was  frightful,  they  say  ;  he  tried  to  get  a  hearing ;  they 
would  not  listen ;  the  president  rang  his  bell  and  shouted  for 
silence  every  time  he  began  to  speak  ;  they  howled  and  roared 
against  him  like  madmen  ;  Thuriot  told  him  that  the  l^lood  of 
Danton  was  choking  him  when  his  voice  failed — then  Henriot 
hearing  of  his  danger  ga  lops  with  the  gendarmerie  to  de'iver 
him ;  the  guard  at  the  Tuileries  meet  them  with  their  bayonets ; 
then  the  Commune  rise  up  for  Eobespien'e,  arrest  the  mes- 
sengers from  the  Convention,  and  have  twenty-six  cannon 
dragged  to  the  Place  de  Greve  .  .  .  Eobespierre  is  in  the 
Hotel  de  Yille,  with  his  brother,  and  Cofiinhal  and  Couthon, 
and  I  know  not  v/hom  besides ;  all  his  adherents  are  gathered 
in  the  square,  over  two  thousand' — he  stopped  breathless. 
The  street  below  now  resounded  v.dth  steps  running  by,  and 
alternate  shouts  of  '  Yive  la  Convention ! '  'A  has  la  Con- 
vention ! '  '  Vive  la  Commune  ! '  from  opposing  factions,  but 
no  one  stopped  to  dispute ;  the  battle  was  to  be  fought  out 
elsewhere;  all  hurried  on  to  the  Place  de  Greve. 

'  Is  it  possible  ! '  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  pale 
with  awe.  '  All  this  since  this  morning,  and  perhaps  before 
to-morrow  this  monster  may  be  overthrown  ! ' 

'  Ah,  there  is  Amat ! '  cried  the  wife,  whose  thoughts  had 
been  all  the  whi'e  with  her  husband,  and  she  ran  out  to  meet 
him,  presently  I'eturning  for  a  moment  to  say,  '  Henriot  is 
haramnrlnsr  the  Garde  Kationa^.e  on  the  Place  du  Carousel: 
if  they  listen  to  him  all  is  lost — the  Convention  must  perish", 
and  then  she  hui-ried  back,  vaiuly  trying  to  persuade  her  hus- 
ban^l  not  to  go  out  again. 

*  Let  us  go  up  on  tlie  roof ;  we  can  see  thence  all  over  the 
Place  de  Greve,'  said  Madelon,  and  they  followed,  scrambling 
thi'ongh  a  tiap-door,  to  a  flat  part  of  the  roof,  where  they 
clustered,  gazing  over  the  city,  vvhose  towers  and  domes  rof-e 
dark  into  the  sky,  though  the  houses  were  full  of  lights,  and 
torches  flitted  up  and  down  the  streets,  sheddiug  a  yellow, 
wavei'ing  light  on  the  river,  on  the  dark  masses  of  men  mov- 
ing along  the  quais,  and  on  the  serried  crowd  round  the  Hotel 


;il8  li^ODLESHE  OBLIGE. 

de  Ville,  where  cannouiers  were  standing  A\-itli  lighted  matches 
bv  tlieir  guns,  and  the  gleam  of  the  torclics  mingled  with  the 
cold  jmle  starlight  showed  bristling  pikes  and  bayonets,  and 
tlio  despei-ate  and  liaggard  faces  of  the  i-abble  gathered  to 
dofi'ud  tlu-ir  chief,  whi'e  from  every  quarter  of  the  city  tlie 
tramp  of  innumeral.'le  feet  came  near  and  nearer  to  the 
attack.  On  the  Place  du  Carousel,  Henriot  was  desperately 
appea'ing  to  the  National  Guard,  only  to  read  in  their  sullen 
si  enco  that  liobe5i)!erre's  fate  was  sealed,  and  that  of  his 
friends  with  it.  From  \mknown  liiding-placea.  Royalists  who 
hal  been  lurlcing  in  daily  fear  for  theii-  lives  crept  out,  and 
urged  on  the  j)Oj)u'aco  agsiinst  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  whi'e  even 
more  powerful  was  the  stimulus  sui)plied  by  the  tears  and 
supp'ications  of  fatliers  and  motliers,  husbands  and  wives, 
who  ha  1  relations  among  the  10,000  prisoners  awaiting  death 
in  the  prisons.  With  one  of  those  tremendou.«,  inconceivable 
revulsions  wliich  characterise  Paris,  Robespierre  and  all  be- 
longing to  him  suddenly  Ijecame  the  objects  of  nnivei-sal  exe- 
cration ;  to  se";  0,  to  destroy,  to  annihilate  him  and  his  party 
the  cry  of  the  throng  ])ouring  out  to  crush  the  insurgents  in 
tlie  Place  de  Greve.  What  would  hapj;en  next  ?  The  first 
shot,  nay,  a  mere  nothing,  the  opening  of  a  window,  the 
lighting  of  a  torch,  and  the  troops  of  the  Convention  and  the 
friends  of  Robespierre  would  be  at  each  others'  throats,  and 
Paris  deluge.]  with  b'ood,  perhaps  sacked  and  burned.  On 
every  roof  where  foot  could  stand  spectators  were  clustering, 
gaing  towards  the  Place  de  Gr6ve,  in  bi-eathless  silence,  too 
anxious  for  words.  The  heais  of  the  advancing  columns  were 
seen  debouching  on  the  squaic  :  they  ])aused ;  neither  side 
dared  fire  the  first  shot,  and  a  deep,  brief  silence,  more  awful 
and  intense  than  any  sound,  ensued.  It  was  broken — sud- 
denly, unexpectedly — by  a  cry  of  '  Vive  la  Convention,'  from 
the  midst  of  the  insurgent  ranks,  i-aised  none  knew  by  whom, 
but  the  effect  was  decisive ;  a  roar  of  app'ause  from  the  Go- 
vernment troops  drowned  all  token  of  dissent  from  the  Robes- 
p  ^irists ;  another  silence  followed,  interrupted  tliis  time  by 
a  single  voice,  addressing  the  insurgents,  and  audib  e  in  the 
deep  hush  all  over  the  square.  Those  on  the  roofs  strainci 
their  ears  in  vain ;  they  could  on^y  see  that  tlierc  was  a  flue- 


TEE  dTH  OF  THEBMIDOB.  219 

tuating,  uncei'tain  movement  round  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  as  if 
friends  and  foes  were  mingling,  wlietliei-  peaceably  or  not  none 
could  tell ;  it  was  all  a  dark,  sui'ging  mass. 

'  The  cannon  are  not  fired,'  murmured  Edmee. 

That  was  all  which  they  weie  sure  of;  the  shouts  and 
cries  might  be  those  of  joy  or  anger.  The  himdieds  of 
anxious  eyes  bent  on  the  squai-e  could  see  nothing  for  many 
minutes  but  the  heaving  crowd ;  after  a  time  it  seemed 
thinner ;  there  were  empty  spaces  here  and  tliei-e,  and  though 
the  cannon  remained,  tho^e  of  the  insurgents  facing  the  guns 
brought  up  by  the  Garde  Nationale,  the  gunners  had  disap- 
peared. Madelon  ran  downsiau's  to  see  if  Crocq  had  returned, 
and  ti-y  to  hear  what  was  happening  ;  the  otliers  stood  watch- 
ing until  convinced  that  they  could  see  nothing  which  would 
tell  them  anything  more,  and  wearied  out,  they  went  back  to 
their  roo'^,  but  no  one  in  the  Maison  Ci'ocq,  or  in  hundreds 
of  other  ho\ise3  in  Paris,  went  to  bed  that  night.  At  day- 
break Ba'mat  went  out,  promising  to  return  soon,  and 
Michounet  came  in,  to  find  himself  instantly  surrounde  1  by 
aU  the  inhabitants  of  the  house,  demanding  news  of  the 
night's  events.  From  him  they  gatheied  more  or  less  of  the 
arrest  of  Robesp'erre,  the  terrib'e  scene  wben  the  Garde 
Nationa'e  seized  him  and  las  friends  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
and  that  they  were  now  in  the  Conciergerie  awaiting  sen- 
tence of  death.  For  a  moment  no  one  could  speak ;  then  a 
sort  of  shriek  of  mingled  joy  and  fear  escaped  every  lip,  em- 
braces, kisses,  tears,  broken  words  followed,  a  scene  of  confu- 
sion, gratitude,  almost  incredulous  rapture,  such  as  was  beiug 
enacted  all  over  I'aris,  as  if  everyone  fe!t  his  own  life  and 
that  of  his  best  beloved  given  back,  when  beyond  hope  of 
reprieve ;  Paris  only  recognised  the  intensity  of  its  terror 
by  the  intensity  of  its  relief,  but  mingled  with  all  was  a  sort 
of  incredulous  ama-^ement  that  such  a  thing  was  possible  as 
that  Robespierre  could  be  thus  cast  do^vn..  '  How  art  thou 
fallen,  O  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning ! '  was  the  thought  in 
evey  heait,  and  each  would  tm^n  and  ask  his  neighbour  if 
indeed  it  -o'eie  true,  and  shed  tears  of  raptm-e  at  the  assurance 
that  it  was  so,  that  the  death-day  of  the  tyrant  was  come- 
that  tyi-ant  whom  their  own  hands  had  set  up.     All  Paris 


220  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

was  in  the  streets ;  from  adjacent  windows,  from  roof-tops 
messa':;es  were  te'e<::i"aphed  to  tlie  piisons,  wliose  inmates  liad 
watclied  in  terror  all  through  the  evening  and  night,  be'icv- 
ing  themselves  about  to  he  murdered,  and  now  flocVed  to  the 
windows,  scarcely  able  to  be'ieve  that  it  was  Eol  e:5pierre, 
not  themselves,  whose  last  hour  hal  come,  rea  ling  the  atored 
coutlitiou  of  tliings  in  the  huml)led,  downcast  air  of  their 
gaolers,  and  in  the  glad  faces  which  looked  at  them  fi-om  with- 
out, some  of  friends,  some  of  strangers,  but  all  gratu^atoi'y 
a'ike.  ]\Ieanwhile  Eobesp'cvre,  mute,  impassive,  giving  no  sign 
of  pain  either  from  tortured  mind  or  shattered  body,  awaited 
the  death  which  his  less  stoical  companions  were  trorabling 
to  meet.  Neither  as  they  passed  through  the  streets,  more 
thronged  and  by  a  more  exulting  crowd  than  even  when  Louis 
Seize  went  to  liis  death,  nor  wh.en,  last  of  the  condemned,  he 
left  the  cart  for  the  scaffold,  did  he  show  any  emotion  :  once 
only  his  eye  g'auced  round,  when  a  man  standing  near  mur- 
mured, '  Yes,  Robesjnerre,  there  is  a  God  ! '  Physical  agony 
wnmg  one  cry  fiom  him  as  the  executioner  roughly  snatched 
away  the  haudkercldef  which  bound  the  jaw  shuttered  by 
a  brutal  shot  fi-om  a  (Jarde  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  otherwise 
the  stoic  Republican  died  as  he  had  lived,  ca^m,  immovable, 
terrible.  And  Paiis,  mad  with  joy,  rushed  forth  for  wdiat 
was  called  a  '  man'fest;ition  promcuatoire,'  and  in  the  evening 
thronged  to  the  theatres,  to  see  Armida,  with  Tc'emaque  for 
the  ballot  at  the  Opera,  or  the  Combat  of  Thennopylie  in  the 
Cit6.     So  ended  the  9th  of  Tliermidor. 


CHAPTER  XXYIl. 

LAURE. 


'  Say  what  you  will,  I  cannot  understand  it,'  said  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan.    '  Robespierre  is  dead,  and  his  friends 


LAUBE.  221 

are  dead  too,  or  in  hiding — you  admit  that,  and  yet  power 
seems  only  to  have  passed  li-om  one  set  of  assassins  to  another  ! 
Whatever  anyone  may  say,  the  Revolution  was  founded  on 
truth  and  justice  ;  it  taught  brotherhood  and  equal  rights  for 
all  men,  it  swept  away  the  abuses  of  centuries,  and  yet  it  has 
come  to  this  !  What  livers  of  blood  have  been  shed,  and 
what  crimes  committed  in  the  name  of  Libei"ty !  To  be  sure, 
we  might  say  that  of  Christianity,  or  anything  else  with  which 
men  have  to  do,  but  now  we  seem  to  have  got  the  deluge 
without  the  ark  or  the  dove  !  Poor  Liberty  !  she  was  married 
to  the  Revolution  in  '89,  but  there  was  a  speedy  divorce,  for 
incompatibility  cVJmmeur,  I  suppose.  Well,  well,  go  away^ 
child  ;  you  have  your  screens  and  fans  to  take  to  Bautain's — 
do  not  let  me  keep  you.' 

Edmee  kissed  her  and  went  out,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  sat  ruminating  an  idea  which  had  suddenly  occm-red 
to  her.  Presently  she  did  what  she  had  never  attempted 
since  coming  to  the  Maison  Crocq — went  out  of  it ;  and  when 
Edmee  retiu'ned  she  found  with  great  alarm  an  empty  room, 
and  no  news  of  the  absentee,  except  that  INIade^on  said  she 
had  heard  someone  go  out,  but  could  not  leave  the  pieds  de 
mouton  d  la  pouloite  which  she  was  cooking  to  see  who  it  was. 
Edmee  cou  d  do  nothing  ;  Balmat  was  at  the  atelier,  and  she 
could  not  possibly  seek  him  among  threescore  unmannerly 
students,  nor  indeed  could  he  have  gone  in  search  of  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  since  no  one  knew  whither  she  had 
gone,  though  an  explanation  of  her  absence  occiu-red  to  Edmee 
which  increased  her  trepidation ;  it  might  be  that  she  had 
settle!  the  vexed  question  whether  any  communication  were 
to  be  held  with  De  Pelven  by  going  to  see  him.  In  the  first 
boundless  re  ief  of  Robespierre's  death  all  danger  had  seemed 
over,  but  Ba'mat,  looking  on  with  the  dispassionate  clear- 
sightedness of  a  foreigner,  unconcerned  with  what  was  hap- 
pening, thought  otherwise,  and  the  event  proved  him  right ; 
the  Jacobins  were  as  dangerous  as  ever,  and  though  they  re- 
leased those  who  were  in  prison  on  the  9th  of  Thermidor,  they 
replaced  them  with  others,  and  when  the  tide  of  oppression 
and  bloodshed  seemed  retreating  a  great  wave  would  sweep 
up  over  the  whole  shore,  and  carry  everything  away  with  it. 


2:22  li^OBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

The  confusion  in  the  country  waa  grrcater  than  ever,  and  it 
was  increa-;c.l  by  Royalist  p'ots,  and  the  voncreance,  stealthy 
in  Paris,  o])en  in  the  ea,st  of  France,  whicli  they  were  taking 
on  their  enemies.  Strange  rumom-s  began  to  spread  of  a 
secret  society  formed  among  them  under  tlie  name  of  tho 
Compagnona  de  Jehu,  bound  to  put  to  death  ever}'  Jacobin 
who  fell  into  their  hands,  and  diligences  were  constantly 
steppe .1  an  1  robbed  by  men  whose  air  and  di-ess  showed  them 
to  be  of  the  upper  c  asses.  Edmce  couUl  not  guess  liow  aU 
tliis  would  affect  De  Pelven,  but  she  knew  that  to  come  again 
into  contiict  with  him  could  bring  nothing  but  trouble  and 
jx'ril.  She  waited  in  increasing  anxiety,  until  her  fears  were 
partially  dispe'.led  by  hearing  ^lademoiselle  de  St.  Aignau's 
step.  She  came  in,  looking  tired,  excited,  half  amused,  ac- 
companied by  Isnard,  who  bowed  to  Edmee,  saying,  '  We 
have  not  met  since  the  fall  of  tho  monster.  I  have  been 
occupieJ  in  composing  his  epitaph  : — 

Pasamt,  ne  plenre  pns  son  sort, 
Car  s'il  vivait  tu  serais  mort. 

Do  yon  approve  1 ' 

'  Ah,  monsieur,  how  I  thank  you  for  having  brought  home 
my  dear  aunt  Siife'y  I '  cried  Edmce,  too  gla  I  to  see  Ma  le- 
moiselle  de  St.  Aiman  safe  to  attend  to  what  he  said.  '  Where 
have  you  l)eea  ? ' 

*  On  a  little  business  of  my  own,  ma  charmant'','  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  smiling  to  see  how  strongly 
Isnard's  vanity  was  piqued  by  the  neglect  which  his  wit  met 
with.  He  stood  gloomy,  'ike  a  sulky  child.  '  After  you  went 
I  had  nothing  sjiecial  to  do,  so  I  bethought  myself  of  \-i3iting 
my  cousin.' 

'  Dear  aunt !  how  could  you?    And  you  have  seen  liira  V 
'  No,  he  has  quitted  Paris.' 
'  Quitted  Paris  !    Are  you  sure  ]  * 

'  So  his  proprietaire  says.  His  apartment  is  to  let ;  he 
ha.s  gone  to  Poitou,  where  his  family  live,  or  did  live.' 

*  The  Robespierrists  are  tasting  what  they  made  others 
taste  so  long,'  said  Isnard,  suddenly  and  savagely. 

*  Cher  monsieur,  you  are  mistaken  if  you  think  De  Pelven 


LA  URE.  223 

was  an  adherent  of  Robespierre ;  lie  "was  nothing  of  the  kiacl, 
and  I,  -who  know  the  man,  answer  for  it.  Robespien-e  was 
never  « i  lely  popular,  as  Mii-abeau  was  for  instance,  but  his 
adherents  were  all  fanatics,  and  that  gave  them  enormous 
strength.  De  Pelven  was  no  fanatic  ;  it  was  not  in  him.  If 
he  did  good  or  did  eAdl  it  was  coldly,  and  without  loving  it.' 

*  Anyhow  he  and  I  have  a  long  account  to  settle  ;  he  ^^^ll 
yet  repent  that  he  ever  heard  my  name,'  said  Isnard,  in  the 
same  tragical,  gloomy  manner,  at  which  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

'  But  what  did  you  do,  aunt  ?  where  did  you  go  V 

*  I  walked  a  little  way — yes,  I  actually  did  ! '  said  Ma^le- 
moiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  triumphant  in  her  own  dariug.  '  Pre- 
sently I  saw  a  fiacre,  and  hii-ed  it,  but  I  had  not  driven  ha'f 
a  mile  when  I  confess  I  wished  myself  at  home,  for  some 
forty  or  fifty  vii-agoes  rushed  upon  it — it  seems  thqt  the 
driver  had  the  misfortune  to  be  husband  to  one  of  thfjj-ie 
megeres — ordering  him  to  stop  and  take  as  many  of  them  aa 
it  would  hold  to  the  Convention.  I  assure  you  it  was  not 
agreeable  to  be  surrounded  by  furies  howling  and  shouting 
for  bread  and  the  Constitution  of  '93.  I  fully  expected  to  see 
our  Lafarge  among  them,  and  then  Heaven  knows  what 
would  have  happened.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  get 
out ;  luckily  they  paid  no  attention  to  nie,  and  I  was  not  far 
from  De  Pelven's  old  residence,  and  there  stood  monsieur  in 
conversation  with  the  concierge ;  it  seems  he  had  business 
with  De  Pelven.' 

She  looked  v>dth  curiosity  at  Isnard,  but  he  volunteered 
no  explanation  beyond  repeating,  '  Yes,  I  told  you  we  two 
had  an  account  to  sett'e  !' 

'  Then  you  escorted  my  aunt  back  here,  monsieur  ]  Ah, 
dear  aunt,  you  have  made  me  terribly  anxious  I ' 

*  You  see,  ma  honne,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
half  apologetically,  '  I  wanted  to  ask  De  Pelven  if  there  be 
any  hope  of  recovering  my  poor  little  estate  at  Mortemart ; 
monsieiu'  here  says  no,  I  am  sorry  to  say ;  it  must  have  been 
confiscated  as  Men  cV emigre,  which  seems  hard,  I  must  say; 
and  then  again  it  is  only  through  De  Pelven  that  I  see  any 
means  of  communicating  with  my  nej)hew.     He  might  get 


224  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

the  chevalier's  name  raye,  so  that  he  might  return.  If  you 
hear  of  ]M.  de  Pelven's  being  iu  Paris,  you  will  not  fail  to  let 
me  know,  monsieur  ? ' 

*I  will  not  fi'i','  answered  Isnard,  with  a  janing  laugh, 
which  made  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  draw  herself  up, 
displeave  1. 

•And  you,  monsieur'?  you  are  no  longer  in  danger?  we 
have  frequently  wondered  what  had  become  of  you,'  said 
Edmee,  and  then  she  added  in  a  lower  tone, — 'And  Laure? — 
I  have  thought  of  her  so  often  ! ' 

She  stoj)ped,  frightened  by  the  way  in  which  he  turned 
U2)on  her. 

'  You  do  not  mean  tliat  you  have  not  heard  ? '  he  cried, 
angi-ily,  as  if  unable  to  credit  her  ignorance  of  what  was  so 
important  to  himso'f. 

*  I  know  nothing,  indeed,'  faltered  Edmt'e. 
'  She  is  dead.  You  need  not  apk  how.  They  could  not 
find  me ;  they  took  her,  and  they  shall  pay  for  it.  Every 
drop  of  her  blood,  every  hair  of  her  head,  shall  be  paid  for!' 
And  then,  throwing  himself  on  a  chair,  and  covering  his  fiice, 
he  sobbed  aloud.  No  one  ever  appreciated  me  as  she  did  ! 
she  knew  what  I  was  !  There  was  nothing  she  would  not 
Lave  sacrificed  for  my  sake!' 

Edmee  stood  silent,  sorrowing  for  the  pretty  gud  whom 
she  had  seen  .=o  shoi-t  a  time,  yet  could  not  forget,  but  her 
sympathy  with  Isnard  was  chilled  by  a  sense  of  something 
uni-eal  and  egotistical  in  his  emotion. 

'  Had  she  any  relations,  the  poor  child  ? '  asked  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan. 

'  Yes — a  mother,'  he  answered,  as  if  importimed  by  an 
idle  and  in-elevant  question. 

*  Poor  mother — vou  have  no  doubt  seen  her  ? ' 
'  No — on  the  contrary.  It  would  onJy  make  me  suffer 
more  cruelly,  arid  she  was  mine,  mine — even  her  mother  could 
not  enter  into  my  feelings.'  Tears  were  streaming  between 
his  fingers.  Presenty  he  raised  his  head  and  said,  '  I  was 
very  true  to  her.  Of  course  I  was  often  tempted  to  be  un- 
faltlifal,  but  I  was  always  loyal  to  the  poor  child.  It  could 
not  have  continued,  but  it  was  veiy  beautiful  as  long  as  it 


LA  URE.  235 

lasted,  and  now  it  will  ever  remain  a  lovely  recollection.  I 
shall  never  have  the  pain  of  finding  that  my  feelings  are 
changing.  A  time  must  have  come  when  she  no  longer  satis- 
fied me — it  would  have  been  very  painful  to  us  both  ;  we  are 
spared  that  anguish.     I  comfort  myself  thus.' 

To  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  it  seemed  a  i-easonable  and 
sensible  mode  of  argument,  and  she  chimed  in  with  it,  and  he 
took  Edmee's  speechless  indignation  for  sympathy  which  could 
find  no  words.  '  Ah,  you  feel  for  me  ;  you  understand  me ! ' 
he  said,  as  he  took  leave,  kissing  the  hand  which  she  could 
hardly  force  herself  to  yield  to  him.  '  You  will  hear  some 
day  how  I  repaid  the  debt  which  I  owe  her  murderer ! ' 

'  That   yovmg   man  is  a   strange  medley,'  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  remai'ked,  when  he  was  gone.      '  His  sori-ow 
is  all  for  himself,  thovigh  it  is  real  in  its  way,  and  his  vanity 
is  so  strong  that  it  almost  reconciles  him  to  his  soiTOW,  so 
long  as  he  can  believe  that  it  makes  him  the  cential  figure 
in  the  picture.     Apparently  it  never  occurs  to  him  that  he 
caused  that  poor  thing's  death  by  hiding  himself  as  he  did, 
and  leaving  her  to  meet  the  dangei-.     But  he  is  dai^gei'ous — 
I  told  you  so  before  ;  he  will  pique  himself  on  exacting  ven- 
geance for  her,  and  the_  eclat  of  it  will  have  an  irresistible 
cba vui  for  him.    I  wonder  whom  he  means  to  call  to  account ! ' 
UdiL-le  had  divined  that  De  Pelven  was  the  man.  and  sus- 
pected that  he  knew  Isnard  was  lying  in   waii  for  him,  and 
had  left  Paris  as  much  on  that  account  as  because  the  friends 
of  Robespierre  were  in  danger,  though  she  little  guessed  that 
he  had  betaken  himself  to  INIortemart,  whUe  giving  out  that 
he  had  gone  to  Poitou,   and  was  quietly  living  in  Made- 
moiselle de   St.  Aiguau's  house,  partly  as  an  unsuspected 
refuge,  and  pai'tly  with   a  hope  that  he  might  there  learn 
something  about  her  movements,  as  he  probably  would  but 
for  Isnard's  authoritative  assertion  that  the  property  must 
have  been  sold.      Edmee  did  not  care  to  say  even  what  she 
believed  to   be  the  fact,  and  only  replied,    '  It  must  have 
seemed  veiy  cruel  to  name  Laure  as  I  did  ! ' 

'Bah!  how  should  you  know,  joefi^e]  though  to  be  sure 
one  may  safely  suppose  that  all  one's  acquaintance  have 
gone  out  of  the  world  now-a-days,  but  only  his  enormous  and 


226  KOBLESSE  OBLIGE, 

preposterous  vanity  could  have  imagined  that  of  course  all 
concerning  himse.f  must  have  needs  i-oached  our  ears.  I 
wonder  who  he  is  .  .  .  atrocious  manners,  but  he  is  ne,  one  sees 
that  .  .  .  Isnard  ?— Isnard  ?— ' 

'  Balmat  says  he  is  in  some  "way  connected  with  the  De 
Monfort  family.' 

'  Wliat !  is  it  possible  ?  I  know  all  about  them  ;  a  family 
proud  as  Lucifer  ;  they  lived  not  far  from  some  of  my  mother's 
re^ations,  in  an  old  chateau  like  a  fortrers,  lost  among  the 
woods,  and  were  as  fierce  and  savage  as  the  wild  boars  in 
their  foi'ests.  A  father,  three  sons,  and  a  daughter.  They 
never  stirred  off  their  own  lands,  and  had  a  flavour  of  the 
middle  ages  about  them.  I  recollect  something  told  us  once 
by  some  visitor  to  oui-  chateau — the  young  men  suspected  that 
the  sister,  a  girl  who  had  never  had  any  education  or  seen 
any  gentleman  but  her  fother  and  brotheis,  had  a  penchant 
for  a  handsome  garde-chasse.  They  asked  no  questions ; 
they  did  not  shoot  him,  for  that  is  an  aristocrat  sort  of  death, 
but  they  fell  on  the  man  and  beat  him  to  death  ■\\-ith  their 
guns.' 

'Horrible!     And  she]' 

'  Oh,  sent  off  to  some  convent,  and  there  was  an  end  of  the 
matter.  It  wa^  on  theii'  own  lands,  and  nobody's  affair.  The 
Baion  de  la  Roche,  who  related  the  story  to  my  father,  merely 
obseived,  "  Cesgens  vivent  denous  ;  qu'importe  s'ils  meureiit 
par  nous ! "  I  do  not  exactly  see  however  liow  this  Isnard  can 
belong  to  the  De  IMonforts.  To  be  siu-e  there  are  many  way!} 
of  belonging  to  a  noble  family,  and  if  there  be  a  hitch  any- 
where it  woiild  explain  his  being  such  a  violent  aristocrat. 
He  certainly  lias  just  theii'  vanity  ;  they  believed  that  the 
world  was  created  for  them,  and  that  everything  they  did  was 
remaikable  ;  you  often  see  it  in  people  who  live  a  solitary 
life,  and  never  get  oat  of  sight  of  themselves  ;  I  suppose  he 
has  inherited  the  feeling,  and  some  of  their  ferocity  too.  How 
bis  eyes  glared  as  he  spoke  of  vengeance  :  did  you  observe  it? ' 

'  Yes,  but  what  a  poor-spirited  creature  he  is  !  How  can 
anyone  call  such  a  feeling  as  he  described  love  1 '  said  Edmee, 
colouring  vividly  with  indignation. 

'  Love !  what  do  you  know  about  the  matter,  ma 
charmante  1 '  asked  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  quickly. 


LAURE.  227 

'  I  suppose  that  one  may  divine  a  little,'  said  PJdmee, 
coloiiring  mora  and  more,  well  aware  that  she  had  toitch&d 
on  a  sunject  about  which  a  well  bi'ought  tip  maiden  was 
supposed  to  be  utterly  ignoi-ant. 

'  Well  .  .  .  after  all,  one-  cannot  treat  yon  as  a  mei-e 
child,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  in  an  odd.  puzzled, 
uncertain  tone.  '  As  for  me,  I  am  a  vieille  fdle,  1  can 
almost  consider  myself  a  married  woman.  So  it  is  not  thus 
that  you  would  wish  to  be  loved,  eh,  petite  1 ' 

And  she  became  silent,  perhaps  recalling  past  days  when 
she  too,  in  spite  of  the  severely  innocent  education  of  a  girl, 
bien  clevee,  had  had  her  dreams,  and  waited  for  the  return  of 
one  betrothed  who  never  came  back  to  her.  It  had  not 
broken  her  heart  in  youth,  nor  saddened  her  middle  age,  but 
she  had  never  forgotten  that  spring-time  of  youth  and  hope, 
and  it  had  left  a  tinge  of  romance  that  she  Avould  greatly 
have  liked  to  see  renewed  in  Edmee's  h'story.  She  betrayed 
the  course  which  her  thoughts  had  taken,  by  saying,  '  It 
seems  that  the  laws  against  the  c  ergy  and  the  emvjres  are  as 
severe  as  ever.  All  the  se'f-devotion  which  the  priests  have 
shown  will  not  save  their  character  in  the  popular  eyes,  and 
as  for  the  emigres,  if  -they  could  come  back  what  would 
become  of  those  who  had  seized  their  lands  %  The  Eevolu- 
tion  has  altered  all  the  laws  of  property.  Long  before  '89 
the  peasant  loved  a  bit  of  land  l?etter  than  his  life,  and  he 
will  never  let  go  any  that  he  has  once  gi'asped.  No,  I  do  not 
see  how  the  emvjres  are  to  return.  And  when  they  do,  they 
will  be  unaware  of  the  current  in  which  the  Revolution  has 
set,  and  bent  only  on  revenge — it  must  be  so  ! ' 

EJmee  had  seldom  seen  so  weary  and  depressed  a  look  on 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  face.  She  seemed  to  have  had 
a  new  view  of  public  affairs,  which  her  good  sense  forced  her 
to  accept  against  her  will. 

'  That  young  man,'  she  continued  pi-esently,  '  that  Isnard, 
he  is  a  tyj^e  of  the  Royalists  who  ruined  our  cause.  What 
does  he  care  for  truth,  or  liberty  or  patriotism  1  ISTo  more 
than  a  peasant !  He  is  a  Royalist  because  it  is  the  aristocratic 
side,  and  because  without  a  king  there  can  be  no  noil  ss", 
and  he  thinks  that  noble  bii-th  gives  liim  the  right  to  commit 


22H  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

a'l  the  seven  deadly  sins  without  being  called  to  account. 
To  a  man  like  that  the  lower  classes  do  not  exist.  When  I 
hear  him  talk  I  understand  wliat  we  seem  to  the  peop-e,  and 
why  they  have  no  pity.  It  is  not  tliis  or  that  individual 
whom  they  want  to  destroy,  but  our  order.' 

'  I  suppose  so,'  said  Edmee  leluctautly. 

'  See,  child,  many  of  these  democrats  are  true  patiiots, 
but  short-windcil.  "They  are  mostly  in  terrible  earnest,  and 
our  c^ass  has  lost  the  power  of  being  in  earnest.  These  are 
evil  day?)  ...  I  am  strange\y  tired,  perhaps  that  is  why  I 
see  tilings  look  so  black.  But  now  tell  me  what  you  have 
been  about.     Another  batch  of  fans,  I  see.' 

'  Yes,  and  a  ])roposal  to  paint  little  boxes  for  bon-bons, 
with  any  designs  I  like,  and  they  will  be  printed  off  ...  I 
shall  be  well  paid,  and  can  gain  much  thus,  I  think  .  .  .  And 
oh,  tlear  aunt,  I  have  made  a  discover}^  I  am  sure  of  it. 
Next  door  to  Baiitaiu's  is  a  picture  dealer's  ;  I  thought  I 
would  see  if  they  would  buy  one  of  my  flower  pieces.  It  was 
presumptuous,  but  they  did.  The  master  of  the  shop,  M. 
Pinard,  praised  it.  But  that  is  not  the  best.  I  saw  there  a 
flower  ]iainting  so  perfect  that  I  could  only  feel  ashamed  to 
have  offered  mine.  INI.  Pinard  saw  me  studying  it,  .and 
smiled,  saying  I  couhl  not  elioose  a  better  model  ;  it  was  by 
a  flower  painter  whose  works  are  paid  for  enormously  ;  all  the 
more  that  he  would  hardly  be  induced  to  part  with  them, 
but  touched  and  retouched  until  his  patrons  tore  them  from 
him.  There  seemed  to  me  something  familiar  in  the  handing, 
and  looldng  close,  imagine  what  I  saw — instead  of  a  name  in 
one  coiner  was  a  very  minutt!  lily.' 

'  The  royal  flower  !  what  audacity  ! ' 

'  Ah,  but  do  you  know  what  it  told  me  1  The  name  of  the 
artist.  "  The  painter  of  that  pictm-e  is  called  Delys,"  I  said. 
**  No,"  said  Pinard,  "  he  is  an  old  artist  who  has  rooms  iu 
the  Lou^Te  ;  he  is  called  Lalleur."  And  then  I  saw  it  all  ! 
It  is  M.  Delys  who  use  1  to  go  to  St.  Aignan,  whom  I  used 
to  watch  at  work  !  who  gave  me  my  fu'st  colours  .  .  .  ho 
must  have  assumed  the  name  of  I.afleur.  It  is  he  of  whom 
Ba^.mat  speaks,  who  allows  no  one  to  enter  his  studio.  But 
I  shall  find  my  way  tliither,  and  astonish  our  Ealmat ;  be 


LA  UIIE.  229 

sure  you  tell  him  nothing.  But  I  tire  you,  clear  aunt  % '  she 
added,  disappointed  at  the  want  of  interest  with  wliich  her 
eager  tale  seemed  heai*d. 

'  No,  no,  petite,  on  the  contrary  ...  I  do  not  laiow 
what  has  happened  to  me.  These  ten  days  I  seem  to  have 
grown  more  dull  and  tired.  It  is  nothing.  My  expedition 
of  to-day  over-tu-ed  me.' 

Edmee  looked  uneasily  at  her.  It  was  very  unhealthy 
weather,  and  an  epidemic  of  low  fever  was  pi'evalent,  greatly 
increased  by  want  of  proper  food  and  the  general  anxioii>-3  and 
nervous  state  of  the  public,  but  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
shook  off  her  depression,  and  began  discussing  Edmee's  news 
with  her  usual  animation.  Edmee  was  delighted  by  the  dis- 
covery which  she  thought  that  she  had  made.  She  had  long 
resolved  to  storm  the  fortress  which  Balmat  declared  impreg- 
nable, and  now  she  had  no  longer  any  fears  of  failui-e,  though 
M.  Delys  seemed  to  exaggerate  the  common  habit  of  many 
artists  of  surroimcUng  their  labours  with  a  kind  of  mystery. 
He  could  indeed  hardly  be  expected  to  recollect  the  child 
who  had  formed  but  a  very  passing  episode  in  his  life,  though 
he  had  so  powerfully  influenced  hers  ;  but  Edmee  felt  sure 
she  should  at  least  once_see  the  inside  of  his  ateher,  and  fell 
asleep  full  of  schemes  for  the  morrow. 

They  were  not  destined  to  be  fulfilled.  Morning  found 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  so  unwell  that  Edmee  could  not 
leave  her ;  and  it  proved  the  l:)eginning  of  a  tedious  illness, 
lasting  week  after  week  with  little  perceptible  change.  '  I 
will  never  set  my  heart  on  anything  again,'  Edmee  thought, 
with  the  feeling  that  it  is  sufiicient  to  desire  a  thing  strongly 
to  see  it  become  impossible,  which  readily  occurs  to  natiu-es 
pitched  in  a  minor  key ;  but  soon  she  could  only  think  of  her 
invalid.  Those  were  weary  months,  full  of  the  difiiculties  of 
constant  attendance  on  a  sick  bed,  when  combined  with  the 
pitiless  necessity  of  gaining  a  livelihood.  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignau's  cheerful  spirit  never  failed  ;  she  was  the  most 
patient  and  good-humoiu-ed  of  invalids,  though  in  health  her 
temper  could  be  quick  enough  ;  but  Edmee's  strength  wiis 
sorely  tried  by  anxious  days,  with  work  done  in  moments 
snatched  from  the  sick  room,  and  watchful  nights.     Madame 


230  NOBLESSE  oniAGE. 

Ataat  gave  what  help  she  could,  and  Balmat  tided  her  over 
many  hard  houi's  ;  Madelon  too  was  ready  to  assist  as  far  as 
she  knew  liow,  but  she  had  the  peasaut  rough-handedness 
and  inability  to  cook  or  nurse.  Her  favourite  remedy  was 
hot  wine  with  a  candle  melted  in  it,  and  she  was  mortally 
aiTronted  at  its  being  utterly  declined  by  both  niu'seaiid  patient, 
and  then  she  could  not  pardon  Edmee's  wasting  money  on  a 
doctor,  and  having  once  or  twice  to  beg  her  to  wait  for  the 
rent  in  consequence.  *  If  it  had  been  someone  who  could 
have  said  a  prayer  over  la  mo.ladi,  there  would  have  been 
some  sense  in  it,'  she  said,  a  prayer  being  a  euphuism  for  a 
charm,  '  but  a  doctor  !  If  we  were  sure  she  would  get  well 
there  would  be  some  sense  in  paying  for  mecUcine,  but  if  she 
should  die  after  all  it  will  all  have  been  wasted  ! '  It  seemed 
more  than  once  during  that  winter  as  if,  from  Madelon's 
point  of  view,  all  the  nursing  and  doctoring  would  be  wasted. 
Death  stood  on  the  threshold  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's 
room,  and  even  seemed  to  enter  and  stand  by  her  bed  ;  but 
with  the  new  year  came  a  turn  for  the  better,  reviving  ho])es, 
increasing  strength,  and  Edmee  began  at  once  to  realise  how 
tired  and  how  glad  she  was.  *  You  would  not  let  me  go,  my 
child  :  yo'i  have  kept  me,  and  I  am  right  g'ad  to  have  been 
kept,'  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  said  to  her,  when  she  fii'st 
left  her  bed  for  an.  arm-chair,  helped  by  Madelon'a  strong 
arm,  very  readily  proffered,  '  but  how  have  you  got  through 
tliis  time  1 ' 

Edmee  could  not  have  told  her.  She  had  got  tlii-ouKh  it 
as  people  do,  whose  strength  and  nerves  are  taxed  to  their 
utmost,  ^^'ithout  realising  the  strain  until  it  slackens.  She 
found  her  chief  dithculty  wovild  now  be  in  putting  aside  the 
anxiety  of  ^Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  about  the  Avhite  looks 
which  she  could  not  disguise,  and  to  hide  that  their  purse 
had  gi'own  so  empty  that,  weary  or  not,  she  must  work  doubly 
hard  to  re-fill  it.  It  was  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  who 
recurred  to  the  project  discussed  before  her  illness,  and  urged 
her  to  seek  M.  De'ys.  and  after  all  it  was  rather  to  p' ease  her 
than  herself,  that  Edmee  promised  to  do  so.  Madelon  shook 
her  head,  and  did  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  no  good  hj 


OPEN  SESAME.  231 

her  comments  on  Edmee's  looks,  uttered  with  the  nasparing 
plainspokeunesD  of  her  class,  and  Edmee  was  obliged  to  silence 
her  by  admitting  that  she  did  want  aii*  and  rest,  aad  pro- 
mising to  seek  the  old  painter  the  first  day  that  she  could  leave 
jMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan. 


CHAPTER   XXYIII. 

OPEN    SESAME. 


The  Louvre  in  1795  was  more  like  an  Augean  stable 
than  what  it  became  a  few  years  later,  when  the  strong  hand 
of  Napoleon  had  cleared  it,  though  even  he  found  it  a  difficult 
task.  Some  attempt  had  been  made  by  the  Convention  to 
establish  a  national  museum  there,  the  chief  result  of  which 
had  been  wasting  large  sums  of  money.  Great  part  of  the 
palace  was  given  up  to  artists,  who  had  constructed  a  series 
of  ateliers  and  chambers  in  the  great  unceiled  galleries, 
lighted  only  from  the  court,  and  established  there,  not  only 
their  studios,  but  then*  families.  Anytliing  more  disordeidy, 
gloomy  and  comfortless  than  the  Louvi-e  and  the  Tuileries  at 
this  time  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine,  but  no  one  appeared 
to  think  so,  and  a  lodging  in  the  former  was  greatly  coveted, 
especially  as  it  was  given  gratis.  Here  David  had  his  atelier, 
and  that  of  -his  students  ;  here  Van  Sjjaedonck  composed  his 
beautiful  flower  pieces,  Valenciennes  painted  his  landscapes, 
and  Ingres  began  to  study  art.  Even  in  1792  there  had 
been  an  exhibition  of  pictures,  and  all  through  these  troubled 
years  art  had  struggled  on,  and  in  some  degree  shared  in  the 
new  birth  of  all  things  in  France,  partaking  of  the  faults  and 
mistakes  of  the  times,  but  shaking  off  traditional  chains,  and 
animated  with  fresh  vigour.  Through  this  stormy  time 
M.  Delys  had  worked  unmolested,  almost  unconscious  of  the 
tempest  raging  outside  of  his  atelier,  absorbed  in  his  delight- 
ful art,  and  content  to  produce  s'ov>']y,  so  long  as  the  result 


2-dz  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

satisfierl  him.     Sometimes  he  disappeared  for  days  together, 
having  left  Paris  to  spend  a  week  in  the  woods  and  tie'.ds, 
studying  plants  and  flowers  in  their  own  haunts ;  sometimes 
he  procured  subjects  from  the  flower  market,  where  he  was  a 
well-known  customer.      As    Edmce   crossed   the    Place   du 
Louvre,  so  early  that  the  milk-women,  with  great  jars  on 
their  heads,  were  still  crying  '  La  laitiere  !  la  laitiere  !  allons 
vite ! '  and  the  sky  was  still  pearly  with  the  first  dawn,  she 
saw   the  old   man,   a  solitary  figure,  coming  in   a  contrary 
direction  over  the  .silent  square,  and  carefully  chciishing  a 
tuft  of  early  primroses  and  moss,  through  which  a  spray  of 
ivy  wa3  twining.     She  recognised  him  at  once  hy  his  air  and 
pecu'iar  gait,  and  the  lirown  coat  with  gold  buttons,  and  great 
pockets,  stuffed  full  of  plants,  just  as  she  had  formerly  seen 
him    at    St.    Aignan's.     How    familiar    it    all    seemed — the 
muslin  ruffles,  and  the  .shirt-frill  stained  with  .snuff,  and  the 
round  wig,  pushed  awry  as  of  old.     Her  heart  beat  so  fast 
with  p  easure  and  trej^idation,  that  her  first  low  call  was 
unheard,  but  the  second  time  that  she  uttered  his  name  he 
turned  shai-jily.     'Who  calls  me  so?   Who  are  you,  child? 
What  do   you  want?'  he  asked  irritably,  and  pushing  his 
wig  more  crooked  than  e^'e^. 

'  ]My  name  is  Lafleui- — Lafleur,  do  you  hear  ?  I  do  not 
know  you.' 

'  You  do  not  recollect  me,  monsieur,  but  I  have  seen  you 
formerly,  at  St.  Aignan.' 

•  But  what  do  you  want?  what  do  you  want?  I  have  no 
time  to  lose,'  he  answered,  offering  her  a  few  sous,  much  as 
he  would  have  brushed  away  a  troublesome  fly. 

*  Xot  that,  monsieur,  something  much  greater,'  replied 
Edmee  with  a  half-laugh,  and  then  he  began  to  perceive 
that  he  had  not  a  beggar  to  do  with,  and  called  his  thoughts 
away  with  an  effort  from  the  primroses  which  he  was  con- 
templating as  he  went  along,  regardless  of  the  worn  and 
dangerous  state  of  the  pavement,  or  the  risk  of  walking  into 
the  deep  gutters  in  the  middle  of  the  streets. 

'  I  used  to  see  you  paint  at  the  chateau.  You  taught 
me  a  little,  and  gave  me  some  colom-s,  Madame  de  St. 
Aignan  was  my  godmother.' 


OPEN  SESAME.  233 

'  I  cannot  recollect  anything  about  yon,'  said  the  old  man, 
peevishly  ;  '  what  is  your  name  1 ' 

*  Edmee.  Do  you  not  recollect  painting  a  branch  of  a 
new  tree  which  Madame  de  St.  Aignan  had  planted  in 
the  gardens  1  a  tree  with  drooping  yellow  blossoms,  a  little 
like  l>oats  or  butterflies "?  You  said  there  was  but  one  other 
place  where  they  were  found  in  all  France.' 

*  The  laburnum  ...  I  begin  to  recollect,'  said  M.  Delvs, 
more  gently.  The  Coxmtess  sent  you  to  show  me  where  they 
grew,  saying,  you  knew  every  flower  and  tree  in  the  grounds. 
Yes,  it  comes  back  to  me.     Does  it  still  flourish  % ' 

'  I  think  so,  monsieur.  Tiees  and  even  flowers  live  longer 
than  those  who  planted  them.' 

'  Triis,  true.  Her  god-daughter  ...  to  be  sure ;  but  you 
were  a  mere  child,'  said  M.  Delys,  with  evident  suspicion  of 
her  identity. 

'  It  is  several  years  ago,  monsieur.' 

*  Ah,  true ;  one  forgets,  one  forgets.  Long  enough  to  lay  the 
Countess  in  her  grave,  and  for  many  other  things  to  happen — 
at  least,  so  they  tell  me,  but  I  never  listen,  I  never  listen,' 
he  added,  hurriedly;  '  I  know  and  care  nothing  of  what  passes 
beyond  my  atelier.  The  primroses  blow  still  at  all  events, 
and  very  early  too  this  year.  Here  am  I  letting  you  waste 
my  time  while  my  flowers  fade.* 

He  walked  hastily  on,  but  Edmee  kept  by  his  side,  and 
apparently  his  mind  was  occupied  by  the  recollections  which 
she  had  evoked,  for  he  said  suddenly,  'Are  you  not  the 
steward's  daughter  ]  What  has  become  of  him  ]  Dead,  no 
doubt,  like  the  rest.  And  what  are  you  doing  in  Paris'? 
You  are  not  alone,  I  suppose  'i  ' 

'  No,  I  have  an. aunt  with  me.' 

*  Edmee  1 — And  a  sweet  voice,'  he  muttered  audibly. 
*  Strange  that  she  should  have  that  name.  What  is  your 
sm-name,  child  1 ' 

'  My  father  was  called  I^eroux.' 

*  Well  then,  mademoiselle  .  .  .  tush  !  citoyenne  Leroux — ' 

*  Pardon ! '  she  interi-upted,  tiu-ning  red  and  pale, '  jiadame 
Alain.' 

'  What !  You  are  married  !  impossible  ! '  said  the  painter. 


234  FODLESSE  OBLIGE. 

surveying  the  slender,  gii-lisli  figiu-e  witli  xmconcealed  sur- 
prise. 

*  I  am  older  than  I  look,  monsieur.' 

*  And  how  Ions;  have  you  been  married  1 ' 
'It  was  in '93/ 

*  And  your  husband  1  where  is  he  ? ' 

'  I  do  not  know  what  has  become  of  him,'  she  stammered, 
casting  down  her  eyes.  '  He  was  obliged  to  leave  me  dii-ectly 
...  I  have  never  soen  him  since.' 

*  Bon  !  what  times  ! '  mvitt^red  the  old  man.  *  All  is 
upside  down.  No  douljt  the  husband  was  cai-ried  off  to  the 
war,  artisan  or  peasant  he  would  have  to  go,  and  there  are 
tlie  owners  of  St.  Aignan  all  gone  too,  who  knows  where ! 
Noliles  and  peasants  all  vanished  equally  .  .  .  good  heavens, 
what  times  !  She  does  not  look  like  a  peasant,  tliis  child  .  .  . 
she  is  far  more  like  a  noble  demoiselle  .  .  .  Well,  why  have 
you  sought  me]  how  did  you  find  out  an>i;hing  about 
me?' 

'  I  saw  one  of  your  beautiful  paintings  at  Pinard's,  where 
I  had  gone  to  ask  if  he  would  buy  some  daub  of  mine ;  I  knew 
your  touch,  and  then  I  saw  the  lily  which  you  always  put 
in  the  corner — ' 

*  Think  of  that !  she  recognised  my  touch  ! '  cried  M. 
Delys,  delighted  ;  '  Go  on,  ma  bonne.' 

'  They  assured  me  that  the  painting  was  by  an  artist 
named  Lafleur,  but  I  knew  better,  and  found  out  where  you 
lived.  You  are  thinking  me  very  daring,  but  you  know  I  am 
a  sort  of  pupil  of  yours,'  said  Edmee  ;  '  so  here  I  am  to  ask  a 
favour,  a  great  favour.' 

'And  what"?'  asked  M.  Delys,  struck  with  the  charm 
which  her  momentary  smile  had  given  toher  delicate,  mo  m-n- 
ful  countenance. 

*  Ah,  if  you  would  let  me  study  in  your  atelier  ! ' 

'  Peste  !  '  he  exclaimed,  much  astonished.  *  Study  in  my 
atelier  !  you  are  out  of  your  senses,  child.' 

'  Oh,  I  know  that  you  admit  no  one,  and  have  no  pupils, 
but  I  am  not  a  wicked  boy,  but  industrious  and  well-be- 
haved ;  I  would  light  your  fii'e  and  arrange  your  atelier — '' 

*  Apelles  forljid  !     No  one  but  poor  Balmat  shall  do  that 


OPEN  SESAME.  335 

...  an  excellent  Swiss,  a  good  awk%vard  fellow,  who  has 
made  his  way  in,  I  know  not  how,  and  I  have  not  the  heart 
to  forbid  it.' 

Edmee  laughed  a  little,  knowing  it  was  for  her  sake 
that  Balmat  had  patiently  ingi-atiated  himself  ^vith  the  old 
man,  and  brought  away  many  useful  hints  and  criticisms  for 
her. 

'  Anyhow  I  must  learn  to  paint  better  than  I  do  now,' 
she  said,  '  and  you  mxist  help  me.' 

'  Why,  she  begins  to  order  now  ! '  said  the  old  man,  but 
he  smiled.  '  If  she  were  but  to  call  me  "  father  "  I  should 
begin  to  think  that  my  daughter  ...  I  always  felt  that  she 
would  have  inherited  my  talent,  and  perhaps  even  have  de- 
veloped it  fiu'ther.  Ah,  bah !  the  whole  morning  ■will  be 
g-one — do  yovi  think  these  things  are  settled  in  the  streets  % 
fetay,  you  shall  see  my  atelier ;  there  can  be  no  harm  in  that,' 
he  murmured  as  if  apologising  to  himself  for  some  weakness. 
'  When  she  has  heard  my  neighbours  for  ten  minutes  it  will 
put  such  foolish  fancies  out  of  her  head.  Edmee  !  why 
should  she  have  precisely  that  name,  I  ask  you  ? ' 

Edmee  followed  him  up  a  narrow  dark  staii'case  leading 
from  the  little  door  by  wliich  they  entered  the  Louvre 
to  a  studio  which  he'  had  inheiited  from  someone  who  had 
quitted  it  so  suddenly  for  the  wars  or  the  scaffold  that  he  had 
left  most  of  liis  possessions  behind.  M.  Delys  had  left  them 
undistm'bed.  It  Avas  a  far  larger  atelier  than  he  needed, 
with  bare  grey  vsalls,  and  a  single  window,  some  ten  feet 
from  the  ground,  and  it  had  evidently  belonged  to  a  painter 
of  David's  school,  for  bronzes,  a  cvirule  chaii',  and  Etruscan 
vases  were  mingled  Avith  plaster  casts  of  heads  and  legs  and 
arms.  There  was  a  sketch  of  some  classic  subject  half-de- 
signed on  an  easel,  pushed  a.jide  and  forgotten  behind  a  stove. 
On  another  easel,  under  the  gi-rat  window,  so  that  the  full 
sunlight  fell  on  it,  stood  a  lovely  group  of  flowers  which 
Van  Spaedonck  himself  might  have  en  vie  1.  The  primi-oscs 
just  brought  in  were  to  form  part  of  it.  He  laid  them  down 
with  lovintj  cai-e  ;  his  thin  finders  seemed  to  caress  them  as 
he  sprinkled  them  with  water,  while  his  companion  siirveyed 
all  around  with  keen  interest.     She  felt  as  if  she  had  found 


236  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

her  way  into  a  new  land,  where  everything  was  a  revelation 
or  a  wonder,  but  her  eye  fell  ou  the  painting  ha"f  finished 
under  the  window,  and  she  uttered  a  cry  of  de  ight. 

*  Ah  !  mon  mattre,  what  a  chef  cVaiuvre!'  she  cried,  with 
the  sincei-est  admiration.  '  One  sees  the  drops  of  rain  glitter 
on  those  leaves  !  that  butterfly  is  j  ust  going  to  settle  !  And 
how  was  it  possible  to  find  a  blue  so  exactly  the  right  shade 
for  this  flower  % ' 

'  Hon  !  she  tliinks  herself  a  critic  ! '  said  the  painter,  laugh- 
ing, but  evidently  well  pleased  by  her  enthusiastic  delight. 
'  Do  not  speak  to  me  of  butterflies ;  that  one  was  the  cause 
of  my  dismissing  the  only  pupil  whom  1  ever  admitted  here. 
He  had  talent,  enormous  talent,  I  own  it,  but  I  always 
doubted  if  he  had  that  deep  and  timid  love  of  Nature  without 
which  no  one  is  ever  permitted  to  enter  her  sanctuary.  I 
suspected  that  he  dulled  his  perceptions  and  blinded  his  eyos 
by  pursuing  art  to  gain  money  or  fame — that  he  was  no  true 
worshipper,  in  short,  for  art  is  a  priesthood,  child,  remember 
that,  and  we  are  at  once  priests  and  worshippers,  or  e'se 
pagans  and  exi'es  from  her  temple.  Last  Decadi  lie  goes  as 
he  says  to  study  landscape.  I  approve,  but  the  next  day  he 
returns,  enters  here  with  a  butteri'v  pinned  to  his  hat  a  ive 
and  fluttering.  I  see  this,  I  rise-^'  Isl.  De'ys  grew  so  ex- 
cited by  the  mere  recollection  of  the  scene  that  he  rose  as  he 
spoke  with  a  threatening  gestm-e,  '  I  exclaim,  "  Begone,  un- 
feeling animal,  heartless  wretch  ;  go  and  become  a  butcher's 
apprentice,  but  abandon  for  ever  the  thought  of  becoming  a 
priest  of  Nature,  since  you  treat  thus  one  of  her  most  exquisite 
works  ! "  He  went,  or  I  should  have  thrown  him  down  the 
staii-s.  I  must  have  snatched  his  hat  from  him,  for  I  found 
it  on  the  floor  afterwards,  and  I  drew  the  poor  fly  as  you  see, 
but  talk  to  me  of  pupils  after  that ! ' 

*  But  I  assure  you,  monsieur,  I  shall  never  come  with  a 
butterfly  pinned  to  my  hat,'  said  Edmee.  He  turned  sharply 
towards  her. 

'  Upon  my  word,  if  I  thought  you  were  laughing  at  me — ' 
he  began,  but  his  face  relaxed  as  he  met  her  smi!e,  and  he 
seemed  studying  her  intently.  '  Child,  you  look  as  if  you 
had  suffered  much  ! '  he  said  abruptly. 


OPEN  SESAME.  237 

'  Alas !  is  there  anyone  in  France  who  has  not  suffered 
in  these  last  years'?  You  yourse'.f,  dear  master,  have  you  not 
been  obliged  to  change  your  name  1 ' 

'  True ;  it  vras  discovered  to  be  too  aristocratic ;  I  was 
arrested  on  the  strength  of  it,  for  the  De  is  forbidden,  and 
the  ]ys  a  royal  flower.  Thanks  to  someone  for  whom  I 
was  executing  a  commission  at  the  time  I  escaped,  but  I 
thought  it  best  to  get  rid  of  a  name  which  suited  the  times 
so  ill' 

*  Yet  you  still  sign  your  paintings  with  a  lily  ? ' 

'  No  one  notices  it,  and  it  is  a  litt''e  trick  which  it  consoles 
me  to  play  the  good  people  v/ho  govern  us ;  but  hush  ]  this 
is  a  matter  of  life  and  death ;  I  forget  in  my  atelier  how 
things  are  going  outside — but  do  you  know,  child,  that  the 
great  David  himse'f  has  late' yn^'^n'owly  escaped  the  guillotinel' 

'  To  which  he  had  sent  his  long.  It  was  too  good  for 
him  !'  cried  the  girl. 

'What  are  you  saying,  foolish  child  1  An  artist  like 
David  is  worth  more  •'hau  .nnv  crowne^l  h-^n^^l  I'  said  M.  Delys, 
for  a  moment  forgetting  the  royalist  in  the  painter.  *  And 
yet .  .  .  but  these  are  not  things  to  speak  of  Ah,  you  start — 
you  hear  a  noise  beloAv,  eh  1 ' 

*  What  an  uproar ! '  said  Edmee,  reassured  by  his  tran- 
quillity. 

*  Ah  ha  !  The  pupils  of  David  ;  they  are  below  me. 
Without  doubt  they  are  clioos'ng  a  position  for  the  model 
and  cannot  agree  on  it.  L'sten,  jna  petite,  if  you  came  here 
to  me  you  would  meet  them  aP,  and  you  are  young,  you 
know,  and  they  might  play  you  tricks, 

lis  vous  font  des  caresses, 
Dts  petits  compliineus! 

he  concluded,  humming  a  couplet  of  an  old  song. 

'  Perhaps,  but  I  think  not.  I  have  had  for  some  time 
to  earn  my  living  as  I  could  ;  T  have  had  to  go  at  all  hours 
among  all  kinds  of  people,  but  nothing  ever  happeno  1  to  me. 
I  think  when  people  see  someone  who  only  thinks  of  her 
work  they  let  her  go  her  way.  And  besides  you  would  say 
a  little  word  about  me  to  these  gentlemen,  would  you  not  V 
she  added  coaxingly. 


238  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  I  might .  .  .  We  shall  see.  Where  do  you  live  ?  Good, 
I  wiU  sea  voiu'  aunt  this  evenin'^.' 

*  But,  monsieur,  the  matter  on^y  concerns  myself,  that  is 
needless,'  said  Edmee,  visibly  disconcerted  and  embarrassed. 
'  My  aunt  might  not  like  it.     She  receives  no  visits.' 

'  Ta,  fa  ;'  said  i\I.  De'ys,  not  a  little  surprised  at  Avhat 
seemed  to  him  strange  i)reteusion.  '  Visits  !  I  want  to  see 
her  on  business,  and  examine  with  my  own  eyes  what  your 
capabiUties  are.  You  liave  dr-a wings  1 — sketches  1  Of  course 
I  must  see  her ;  you  are  much  too  young  to  settle  matters  for 
yourse'f.' 

'  But,  monsieur — ' 

'  Have  you  deceived  me  1 '  he  asked,  suspiciously.  '  I 
begin  to  think  that  there  is  neither  aunt  nor  husband  in  the 
case,  and  that — ' 

'  Enough,  monsieur,  we  shall  expect  you  this  evening. 
Only,'  added  Edmce,  her  tone  of  pride  changing  to  supplica- 
tion, '  you  promise  not  to  speak  of  us  to  anyone  ?  No  doubt 
we  may  seoni  too  humble  to  have  enemies,  "but ' 

'  Is  there  anyone  so  hai)i)y  now  ] '  asked  the  old  man, 
brusquely.  *  We  shall  see,  we  shall  see.  Let  me  work,  my 
floM-ers  want  me.'  He  seized  his  palette.  Edmee  stood 
unnoticed,  watching  the  tints  grow  on  the  canvas,  following 
each  touch  with  such  fasc'nated  interest  that  she  fjrgot  the 
anxiety  which  had  suddenly  clouded  her  face.  He  remained 
silently  occupied,  until  a  tap  at  the  door  of  the  at-lier  was 
followed  by  the  entiance  of  Ba'mat,  and  did  not  look  round 
so  as  to  surprise  the  gay  and  mischievous  pantomime  with 
which  Edmee  responded  to  Balmat's  speechless  astonishment, 
but  called  out,  '  Here,  Balmat,  what  do  you  think  of  that 
■  little  lass  wanting  to  be  a  pui^il  of  mine  !     What  do  vou  Fay 

to  that  r 

'  I  th'nk  if  you  do  take  her,  citoyen,  you  will  never 
want  a  model  for  a  lily,'  said  Balmat,  looking  at  the  young 
ga-i,  who  with  her  small  head  set  on  a  slender  white^ieck° 
and  long  eyelashes,  shadowing  downcast  eyes,  did  indeed 
suggest  the  idea  of  a  statue  of  Purity. 

'  Tope  la  /    I  accei:)t  her  on  the   strength  of  the  com- 
parison,' said  M.  Delys,  delighted  with  this  shadowy  pretext 


OPEN  SELLUIE.  230 

for  doing  wliat  he  had  already  secretly  resolved  on.  '  Do  not 
let  anyone  snjipose  it  is  a  good  action ;  I  hate  good  actions,  I 
never  do  them,  as  you  know,  but  if  anyone  resemble  a  flower, 
he  or  she  possesses  the  quaHties  of  that  plant ;  I  have  long 
noticed  it.  So  that  is  settled,  and  I  must  see  what  I  can 
make  of  her.' 

'  We  shall  call  this  the  Atelier  du  Lys  henceforward,'  said 
Balmat,  avIio  was  perfectly  aware,  like  everyone  elf:e,  of  the 
old  painter's  real  name,  and  liked  to  torment  him  byalhisions 
to  it,  which  caused  him  to  buzz  angiily,  like  an  ii'ritated 
wasp,  since  it  was  one  of  his  many  f;incies  to  choose  to 
believe  it  entirely  disguised  and  unknown. 

'  Get  away  to  your  easel  unless  you  have  something  better 
to  do  with  your  time  here  than  talk  folly,'  he  answered, 
'  though  for  that  matter  you  waste  it  there  just  as  much,'  and 
Balmat  made  a  friendly  sign  to  Edmee,  and  went  away,  but 
he  looked  suddenly  downcast,  and  M.  Delys  muttered  re- 
morsefally,  '  There  I  have  spoiled  his  day's  work  for  him, 
poor  fellow  !  Just  like  me  !  I  shall  make  nothing  of  mine 
either  after  this ;  what  business  has  a  crabbed  old  man  to 
paint  flowers  1 ' 

'  Do  ycu  think  he  will  ever  succeed  1 '  asked  Edmee,  with 
a  irtrong  conviction  tliat  the  '  crabbedness '  was  either  a 
delusion,  or  all  on  the  outside. 

*  How  should  I  know  1  his  fingers  seem  dumb  and  lame 
■when  he  handles  a  brush,  yet  there  seems  much  promise  .  .  . 
He's  a  good  fellow,  and  takes  the  tricks  of  his  fellow-students 
in  the  best  part,  though  I  once  saw  him  overwhelmed  with 
despair  after  they  had  invited  him  to  breakfast,  which  they 
explained  to  him  at  the  end  was  paid  for  by  the  sale  of  his 
watch.' 

'  They  had  taken  it !  How  shameful !  Did  he  value  it 
so  much  'I ' 

'  Ah  bah,  they  are  young,  and  it  only  came  to  him  from 
some  aunt  or  grandmother.' 

'  Did  he  ever  get  it  back  ?■ ' 

*  I  believe  so,'  answered  M.  Delys,  very  shortly,  afraid  that 
after  all  he  miglit  have  to  confess  to  a  good  action,  since  ho 
liimself  had  redeemed  the  watch,  and  no  one  ever  ch-eaded  a 


240  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

bad  action  being  brouglit  home  to  him  more  than  he  did  a 
good  one,  since  it  much  interfered  "with  the  character  of  cynic 
which  he  chose  to  play — indiftVrently  enough  at  the  best. — 
Edmcc  guessed  the  truth,  laughed  in  secret,  and  asked  no 
more. 

'  Ah,'  he  broke  out  again  a  few  minutes  later,  contem- 
plating his  work,  '  how  wisely  Chardin  used  to  speak  when  he 
heard  us  criticising  the  ])aintings  in  the  salon  :  "  Gently, 
judge  gently,"  he  would  say,  "find  the  worst  picture  here, 
and  then  recollect  that  perhaps  two  thousand  poor  fellows 
have  broken  their  brush  to  jiieces  despairing  even  to  do  as  ill 
as  that ! "  not  better,  mind  you,  b\it  even  as  badly.  He 
always  declared  that  there  was  no  education  so  laborious  as 
that  of  a  paiuter.  Yon  begin  to  draw  at  seven  years  old,  and 
years  later  you  are  able  to  attempt  the  live  model,  and  then 
it  seems  as  if  you  had  all  to  begin  over  again  ! ' 

He  became  absorl^ed  once  more  in  his  work,  and  scarcely 
noticed  Edmee,  when,  at  length  aware  of  the  lapse  of  time, 
she  hastily  bade  him  farewell.  As  she  went  down  the  little 
winding  staircase  the  troubled  look  i-eturned  to  her  face. 
She  s'lU'kened  her  pace,  and  stood  still  at  the  bottom,  thinking. 
There  was  now  absohite  silence  in  the  atelier  where  Da\ad's 
pu])ils  were  working,  for  unable  to  agree  on  the  pose  to  be 
given  to  the  model,  a  deputation  had  sought  him  to  request 
that  he  would  come  and  decide  the  question,  and  everyone 
was  now  listening  ^vith  deep  attention  to  his  remarks.  Tl,o 
si'ence  did  not  last  long  ;  a  door  opened  and  he  came  cut ; 
his  black  eyes  rested  on  Edmee  with  a  look  of  surprise,  for  a 
young  girl  alone  in  the  Louvre  was  an  unusual  apparition. 
Her  ej-es  fell  before  his,  with  a  feeling  of  rejjulsion,  such  as 
had  thrilled  through  her,  when  she  saw  him  during  the  Fete 
of  the  Etre  Supreme.  '  I  wonder  if  Madame  Chalgi-in's 
ghost  haunts  him  ! '  she  murmured,  recollecting  the  inexplica- 
ble and  criminal  forgetfulness  with  wliich  Da^^.d,  urged  at 
last  into  obtaining  a  pardon  for  the  sister  of  Vernet,  whom 
he  had  loved  in  vain  and  could  not  forgive,  kept  it 
through  careless  forgetfu'ness  a  day  or  tu'o,  and  learned  when 
at  last  he  sent  it  to  her  family  that  she  had  already  perished. 
Scarcely  was  he  out  of  sight  when  a  long  howl  echoed  thi'ough 


OPEN  SESAME.  241 

the  atelier,  tittered  by  a  pupil  who  had  been  watching  throuo-h 
a  peep-hole  in  the  door  until  a  fresh  nproar  might  decently 
recommence.  M.  Delys,  overhead,  fsmiled,  and  said  to  him- 
self, '  David  is  gone  ; '  Edmee  started  and  hurried  away.  She 
could  not  imngine  how  this  band,  as  undisciplined  as  that 
■wliich  later  assembled  in  the  studio  of  Horace  Vernet,  could 
study  to  any  purpose,  and  would  have  been  greatly  surprised 
had  she  seen  how  steadily  many  were  coloui-ing  and  drawing, 
in  the  midst  of  noise,  jests,  and  pranks  of  all  kinds,  but  she 
was  too  anxious  to  think  of  anything  but  her  own  aftaii's  as 
she  returned  to  the  Maison  Crocq,  through  streets  now 
fast  filling  with  the  usual  busy  and  idle  crowd  which  each 
day  called  into  them,  and  linguig  with  the  discordant  voices 
of  orange-sellers,  calling  '  Portugal !  Portugal  ! '  fishermen 
shoutiug  '  Des  harengs  qui  glacent !  '  or  '  Le  maquereau  n'est 
pas  mort ! '  vendors  of  brooms,  baked  apples,  vinegar,  ink,  and 
milk,  who  elbowed  their  way  among  the  crowd,  and  mingled 
their  shrill  cries  with  those  of  a  hundred  other  ambulatory 
merchants.  Edmee  had  leai-ned  the  true  Parisian  art  of  slip- 
ping readily  through  all  the  obstacles  which  foot-passengers 
had  to  encounter,  and  reached  the  Maison  Crocq  long  before 
she  had  settled  the  difficulty  wliich  was  perplexing  her. 
]S'ot^\T.thstandiag  the  precocious  experience  which  responsi- 
bility and  anxiety  and  thought  for  herself  and  others  had 
given  her,  she  was  still  in  some  respects  a  child.  She  had 
not  foi-eseen  in  the  least  that  her  request  to  M.  Delys  to 
receive  her  as  a  pupil  would  involve  his  becoming  acquainted 
with  her  personal  concerns,  or  meeting  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan. 


243  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

'should  old  acquaixtance  be  forgot.' 

It  was  never  willingly  that  M.  Delys  troubled  himself  about 
anything  outside  the  walls  of  his  atelier,  wheie  he  usually 
succeeded  in  forgetting  the  events  which  were  convulsing  all 
France.  He  shrank  from  coming  in  contact  with  them,  and 
tried  to  avoid  knowing  what  he  was  powerless  to  prevent, 
feeling  the  keen  and  irritable  annoyance  of  a  nervous  and 
sensitive  man  when  forced  to  do  so,  deluded  himself  into  the 
belief  that  he  was  a  philosopher  and  a  misanthrope,  and  assured 
his  friends  in  perfect  good  faith  that  he  was  a  new  Timcn. 
Their  amused  incredulity  vexed  him  beyond  measure,  and  his 
ingenuity  was  sorely  taxed  to  explain  away  the  nvimerous  kind 
actions  which  he  found  himself  constantly  peifOrming.  The 
visit  of  Edmee  had  awakened  thoughts  which  had  slumbered 
for  yeai-s,  and  as  he  worked  at  his  primroses  he  was  recalling 
the  pleasant  days  spent  formerly  at  Chateau  St.  Aignan, 
where  the  host,  though  far  from  loving  art  as  his  wife  did, 
had-feome  knowledge  of  the  subject,  had  travelled  in  Italy,  and, 
well  aware  of  the  deplorable  condition  of  pamting  in  France, 
could  talk  agi'eeably  of  its  state  in  Holland,  and  even  knew 
a  little  of  the  new-boi-n  English  school.  It  was  his  metier  to 
be  a  connoisseur  and  patron,  in  a  pleasant  patrician  way,  and 
M.  Delys  had  willingly  accepted  an  invitation  to  spend  a  week 
occasionally  at  the  chateau,  and  paint  the  rare  flowei-s  in  the 
hothouses.  It  all  came  back  to  him  now.  '  What  changes  ! ' 
he  was  thinking  ;  '  who  could  have  dreamed  of  them  ]  Yes, 
it  was  well  she  died,  and  yet  I  can  never  imagine  her  dead — 
so  gracious,  so  charming ;  she  used  to  stand  by  me  in  that 
cashmere  shawl  looking  at  my  painting,  and  always  with 
something  to  say  about  it  which  sounded  sweet  from  her  lips. 
.  .  .  Yes,  I  can  see  her  now,  leaning  on  her  sou's  arm,  or  look- 
ing at  him — ah,  it  is  only  mothers  who  have  the  secret  of  such 
looks — or  else  she  had  her  little  god-daughter  by  the  hand,  that 
little  Edmee,  her  namesake,  no  doubt — it  was  for  her  sake 


'SHOULD  OLD  ACqUiilNTANCE  BE  FORGOT?'  243 

I  chose  that  name  for  my  daughter,  though  I  knew  then  as 
well  as  I  do  now  no  child  of  mine  would  ever  bear  it  .  .  .A 
daughter ...  if  I  had  had  one  like  Tintoretto,  who  loved  her  art, 
but  loved  her  father  better  still,  and  would  not  be  tempted 
away  from  him  even  by  crowned  heads  .  ,  .  Strange  that  that 
little  Edmee  should  find  me  out  here ;  I  remember  now  that 
the  Countess  said  she  had  a  i-eal  taste  for  painting.  What 
flowers  there  were  in  those  hothouses !  they  were  the  Countess's 
passion,  and  doubtless  they  are  dead  or  neglected.  Acciu-sed 
revolution  ! '  but  there  becoming  aware  that  he  had  uttered 
this  unpatriotic  sentiment  aloud,  he  g-anced  round  in  alai'm. 
Only  the  bare  walls  had  heard  him,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
he  resumed  his  painting,  which  he  only  interrupted  a  few  hours 
later,  while  he  ate  a  very  simp'e  dinner,  which  he  took  from 
a  cupboard  in  one  coi'ner  of  the  room.  Balmat  looked  in  once 
or  twice,  and  silently  attended  to  the  stove,  but  did  not  speak, 
though  curious  to  knoAv  how  Edmee  had  made  her  way  in. 
Daylight  fc«gan  to  fade,  and  the  imwe^come  moment  ap- 
proached when  it  was  no  longer  2X)ssible  to  continue  painting 
— always  unwelcome,  always  decayed  as  long  as  possible.  For 
fifty  years  he  had  spent  day  after  day  thus,  with  unwearied 
and  increasing  delight  in  his  art. 

'  It  is  not  bad — not  at  all  bad,'  he  said  at  last,  half  aloud, 
as  he  rose  and  stood  a  little  way  from  his  ease\  to  contemplate 
the  group  of  flowei-s  upon  it.  '  I  have  fairly  caught  the  co  our 
of  that  ha'f-opened  rose ;  one  should  never  forget  that  a  rose, 
strictly  speaking,  has  no  shadows,  only  deepened  lights.  But 
the  bud  .  .  .  never  shall  I  catch  the  modest  air,  full  of  promise 
and  virginal  mystery,  of  a  rosebud.  There  is  some  secret  in 
it  which  I  shall  never  divine.  What  does  a  man  know  of  an 
innocent  young  girl]  and  flower-buds  and  girls  are  closely 
related.  Ah,  that  child  ...  I  must  go  and  find  her.  Poor 
little  lily,  she  looks  as  if  she  had  grown  up  in  the  shade,' 
murmured  the  old  man,  whose  thoughts  ran  so  much  on 
flowers  in  his  solitary  life  that  sometimes  he  seemed  to  con- 
fuse them  with  human  beings,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  reversed 
the  case,  and  looked  on  htiman  beings  as  plants.  One  of  his 
favourite  theories  was  that  each  individual  had  a  countcrpai-t 
in  the  vegetable  kingtlom.  and  he  esteemed  his  actpaintance 


244  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

accordiuff  to  the  plant  or  blossom  which  they  reminclecl  him  of. 
After  <all  he  was  less  often  mistaken  than  might  have  been 
expected,  though  hLs  prejudices  once  formed  were  ineradicable. 
'  I  am  stiff;  I  want  exercise,  I  may  as  well  walk  that  way 
as  any  other,'  he  observed,  apologising  to  liimself,  and  thinking 
aloud  as  usual.  *  What  a  pretty  voice  thrt  child  had — a  voice 
like  a  fauvette.  By-the-by,'  added  he,  with  naif  astonish- 
ment, '  I  never  asked  for  any  proof  that  she  can  paint — old 
rattle-pate  that  I  am  !  just  like  me  !  and  I  have  a'most  pro- 
mised to  take  her  for  a  pupil  without  knowing  whether  she 
can  tell  the  right  end  of  a  brush  from  the  wrong  one  !  What 
probability  is  there  that  she  has  any  genuine  love  of  art  1 
However,  we  shall  see.  I  recollect  such  a  case  once  in  the 
lower  classes,  but  it  is  uncommon,  very  uncommon.  Among 
the  peasantry  there  is  nothing  to  wake  it ;  every  cottage  is 
fiu"nished  just  like  every  other,  and  they  all  live  the  same 
hard  life  and  wear  the  same  dress — and  as  for  the  bourgeoisie, 
there  you  get  morality  and  economy  and  honest  affection, 
everything  that  our  aristocracy  have  not,  and  would  be  ashamed 
to  possess  forsooth  ! — but  love  of  art,  peca'ire  !  I  never  asked 
what  the  girl's  husband  was — a  fool,  at  all  events,  if  he  let 
himself  get  killed  when  he  had  her  for  a  Avife.  To  be  sure, 
one  cannot  always  choose  whether  one  can  live  or  not — it  is 
not  like  a  business  for  which  one  can  hire  a  remplarant  for 
a  few  hours.  Let  us  find  out  that  street  where  she  says  she 
lives ;  no  doubt  she  is  expecting  me.' 

He  was  indeed  anxiously  expected.  As  soon  as  she  reached 
the  Maison  Crocq,  which  looked  even  more  grimy  than  usual, 
Edmee  hurried  to  tell  her  story.  '  Oh,  dear  aunt,  I  forgot 
how  time  was  passing  !  You  have  not  been  alarmed  1  I  have 
seen  him  paint !  If  I  never  entered  the  atelier  again  that 
lesson  would  be  priceless,  but  oh,  how  could  I  ventvu-e  to  hope 
he  would  think  me  worth  having  as  a  pxipil  1  If  you  only 
knew  with  what  perfection  he  renders  every  tint !  the  flowers 
seem  to  live  on  his  canvas.  They  really  were  not  more  lovely 
in  marraine's  hothouses.' 

'  Has  he  agreed  to  take  you  %  ' 

'  I  do  not  know — he — what  will  you  say  1  he  insists  on 
coming  here  and  seeing  you  before  decidiag.' 


SHOULD  OLD  ACQUAIIiTANCE  BE  FOEQOTT  245 

'  Ah,  we  ought  to  liave  foreseen  that — of  course  he  does, 
but  after  all  it  matters  little ;  we  can  certainly  trust  the  old 
man ;  he  must  have  pleasant  recollections  of  my  family,  and 
would  not  denounce  us.   Besides  danger  is  so  much  lessened  ! ' 

'  Alas,  that  means  that  one  is  no  longer  forced  to  meet 
carts  full  of  poor  creatiu-es  going  every  day  to  their  death. 
Kobespierre  has  been  dead  these  seven  months,  but  danger  is 
everywhere  still,  and  cruelty  too.  Our  poor  little  King  ! '  said 
Edmee,  her  ej'-es  filling  with  tears,  as  she  thought  of  the  recent 
death  of  the  hapless  Louis  XVII. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  shook  her  head  in  sorrowful 
assent. 

'  And  INIadame  Royale  1  one  dares  not  think  of  what  she 
has  endured,'  added  Edmee,  almost  in  a  wliisper,  '  She  has 
lost  ever}i:hing  now.' 

'  Do  not  let  us  speak  of  these  things,  petite  ;  they  will  not 
bear  it ;  let  us  think  of  your  old  painter.  You  shall  light  the 
creuse-yeux,  as  Madelon  calls  it,  and  I  will  sit  in  that  corner 
with  my  back  to  it,  and  he  will  certainly  not  recognise  me. 
It  is  worth  risldng  something  for,  and  I  always  liked  that  old 
man ;  I  feel  sure  we  can  trust  him.' 

'  Dear  aunt,  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  when  I  find  how 
much  more  suspicious  I  am  than  you  ! ' 

'  Yes,  child,  you  are  over-suspicious  ;  it  is  a  great  mistake. 
I  do  assure  you  it  is  always  better  to  believe  in  people  thau 
to  mistrust  them.' 

Edmee  sighed.  She  could  not  escape  from  the  effects  of 
that  early  training  of  fear  and  suspicion  which  she  had  had, 
and  these  months  when  she  had  watched  and  trembled  both 
for  herself  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  were  not  calcu- 
lated to  efface  them,  but  she  was  remorseful  for  her  want  of 
confidence  in  others  as  for  a  sin,  though  the  downfall  of  her 
ideal  in  De  Pelven  rose  up  pitilessly  before  her.  She  began 
to  set  the  room  in  order,  and  presently  set  coflee  and  an  egg, 
which  she  fried  on  a  small  stove,  before  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  with  a  fresh  roll,  a  luxury  in  these  days. 

'  But  you,  child,  come  and  dhie  too,' said  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan,  drawing  her  chair  to  the  table  with  great  satis- 


24G  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

■sve  have  no  superfluities  we  haA'e  all  that  is  necessary.  One 
rail  make  an  excellent  dinner  of  eggs  and  bread.  One  learns 
that  in  these  days,  and  T  hope  to  i-ecoUect  it  all  my  life,  though 
I  confess  I  have  begun  Lo  compt-ehcud  what  we  of  the  upper 
classes  really  generaHv  have  lost  all  power  of  understanding 
— the  pleasure  of  eating  an  unuiiualiy  good  chnnt  r.  That  is 
why  the  peasants,  who  fare  so  hardly  at  other  times,  break 
out  into  such  gormandi-iug  at  their  weddings,  and  why  the 
poor  country  cures  look  so  happy  at  one's  table.  That  excel- 
lent man  at  Moi-teinart,  a  saint  if  ever  there  were  one,  I  am 
.sure — the  Abbe  Gerusez — hi«  face  'isod  to  l>eam  with  satisfac- 
tion when  I  had  a  good  dinner  set  before  him — and  why  not  ? 
I  know  that  he  never  had  even  a  bottle  of  common  wine  in 
his  preshyiere,  and  it  was  of  no  use  sending  him  any,  for  he 
always  found  someone  who  wanted  it  more  than  himself.  That 
poor  abbe  !     But  you  do  not  eat.' 

'  I  have  dined.'  said  Edmee,  who  had  catena  piece  of  bread 
on  the  way  home,  much  drier  and  browner  than  what  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  called  necessary.  '  I  will  have  a  cup 
of  milk.' 

She  came  and  went,  watering  the  flowex's  which  she  cher- 
ished in  pnts,  and  smiling  at  the  enjoyment  with  which  Ma- 
demoiselle de  St.  Aignan  ate  her  dinner,  all  the  while  dilating 
on  the  philosophy  which  she  had  acqiiii-ed. 

'  Xeres  could  not  taste  better  to  me  than  this  coffee,'  she 
said.  *  What  a  mistake  we  make  in  believing  such  a  number 
of  comforts  necessary  to  us,  and  yet  how  soon  they  bscome 
indispensable !  You  know  how  simple  my  early  life  was, 
and  yet  wdien  oiu-  fortunes  improA'ed  we  began  at  once 
to  imagine  that  we  must  have  a  number  of  attendants,  and 
splendid  furniture,  and  delicate  dishes.  I  am  g'ad  to  find, 
however,  that  all  this  never  l^ecame  really  essential  to  me.  I 
abandoned  most  of  it  when  I  went  to  ^Nlortemart,  and  I  am 
not  a  whit  less  happy  because  I  open  doors  for  myseT,  and 
wear  no  rouge.  The  on-y  thing  which  I  really  miss  is  society. 
I  really  do  think  that  now  you  are  over-cautious,  btit  do  as 
you  like,  you  ahvays  mean  well,  dear  child, and  childi-en  always 
fancy  themselves  wiser  than  their  elders.' 

She  had  not  the  least  suspicion  that  had  she  beeu  allowed 


■SHOULD  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FORGOT T  24? 

to  do  as  she  liked  ste  would  have  been  gmllotined  long  ere 
this. 

•'  At  all  events  I  shall  have  someone  to  talk  to  if  your  old 
painter  should  come ;  he  will  give  one  some  idea  how  things 
are  going.' 

Edmee  looked  at  her  anxiously,  and  almost  repented 
having  sought  out  M.  Del  vs.  How  many  times  had  this 
ready  sociability,  this  desii'e  for  someone  with  whom  to  con- 
verse, made  her  tremble ! 

'  I  shall  fancy  myself  taking  a  roh  in  a  comedy,'  continued 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  laughing  like  a  child — as  Edmee 
had  never  laughed  in  her  life.  '  I  shall  talk  to  him  like  any 
peasant ;  thanks  to  my  nurse  I  know  our  patois  as  well  as  I 
do  French.  You  shall  see  that  I  puzzle  him  as  if  v/e  wei-e  at 
a  masquerade.  Get  out  you^r  paintings,  'petite ;  what  have 
you  that  is  most  attractive  % ' 

Many  times  that  day  Edmee  looked  at  her  drawings  with 
increasing  dissatisfaction,  seeing  every  fault  as  she  bad  never 
done  before,  and  losing  sight  more  and  more  of  their  merits 
before  the  staircase  creaked  under  the  tread  of  M.  Delys,  who 
came  in  all  out  of  bi'eath. 

'  You  live  rather  too  near  the  stars  for  common  mortals 
lilce  me,'  said  he,  looking  round  him  while  he  took  the  chair 
which  she  offered  him.  AlthoiTgh  when  he  was  not  roused  to 
interest  he  might  have  been  deaf  and  blind  for  anything  that 
he  perceived,  when  his  perceptions  were  awake  they  wei-e 
singularly  clear  and  rapid,  and  he  now  looked  round  with  a 
rapid  scrutiny  which  took  in  all  that  the  room  contained.  He 
saw  poverty  and  industry  there,  for  Edmee's  brushes  and 
colours  lay  beside  a  heap  of  boxes  and  fans,  which  she  had 
been  covering  with  little  bouquets,  or  Watteau-like  scenes. 
There  were  a  few  pots  on  the  window-sill,  filled  with  gay, 
common  spring  flowei'S,  raised  fiom  a  few  sous'  worth  of 
seeds,  or  cuttings  from  some  humble  garden,  and  the  aunt 
was  there,  as  Edmee  had  said  ;  her  back  was  to  the  light,  so 
that  he  could  not  make  out  hei-  features,  but  from  her 
costume  he  judged  her  to  be  some  honest  peasant. 

'  It  is  all  right ;  the  gii-1  told  the  truth,'  said  he  audibly. 


248  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  Here  is  the  aunt,  and  no  lover ;  they  are  honest  and  poor. 
What  is  yonr  name,  my  good  woman  ] ' 

'  Valentin,  monsieur,  Citoyenne  Valentin,'  answered 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  suppressing  her  laughter  with 
great  difficulty. 

*  So  you  come  from  St.  Aignan  ]  I  perceive  that  you 
speak  the  patois  of  La  Bresse.' 

'  Yes,  my  good  monsieur  ;  you  are  veiy  kind  to  come  and 
see  poor  people  like  us.  Excuse  the  liberty  which  we  have 
taken  in  asking  you  to  come  so  high.' 

Her  voice  shook  with  stitled  amusement ;  he  thought  it 
was  with  emotion. 

'  Bon,  hon,  say  no  more  aboiit  it ;  I  wanted  a  walk ;  I 
had  nothing  else  to  do.  H  I  had,  I  should  not  be  here. 
Why,  you  have  let  your  spectacles  fall,  ma  bonne.' 

'  Thanks,  monsieur,'  she  answered,  forgetting  her  part, 
and  speaking  in  her  natural  voice,  and  with  the  manner  of  a 
lad}'  accepting  a  little  service  vt-hich  is  her  due.  '>he  tm-ned 
towards  him  to  take  the  spectacles,  which  she  had  boiTowed 
fi-om  ]\ladelon  as  a  disguise,  and  a  ray  from  the  lamp  fell  on 
her  face.  M.  Delys,  already  surprised  by  the  change  of  voice 
and  manner,  started  back  confounded,  then  rose  and  bowed 
deeply,  saying,  '  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  ! ' 

'  Oh,  this  bad  man  has  found  me  out ! '  cried  she,  gaily. 

*  It  is  so  long  since  I  acted  comedy  that  I  have  forgotten 
how  to  do  it.  Do  not  look  troubled,  my  child,  there  is  no 
harm  done.' 

'  Why  do  you  grudge  me  the  joy  of  knowing  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  safe  and  well  ? '  said  the  painter,  re- 
proachfully. '  You  mistrust  me,  Madame  Alain  !  I  am  an 
old  misanthrope,  of  couise ;  no  man  lives  to  my  age  without 
being  one,  but  you  might  have  told  me.  I  cannot  get  over 
it !  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  here,  in  this  costume,  tliis 
place ! ' 

'  We  had  to  look  as  little  aristocratic  as  possible,  my  dear 
monsieur,  so  I  said  "  I'll  be  a  peasant,  if  you  like,  but  bour- 
geoise — no  !  "  and  I  put  on  this  dress  and  cap,  and  am  very 
comfortable  in  it.  So  you  recognised  me  !  And  yet  I  must 
look  much  older  1 ' 


'SnOULD  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  BE  FOTIGOTT  249 

'  No  one  -wlio  had  seen  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  could 
forget  hei'.' 

'  Ah,  you  are  bound  to  pay  80 !  But  I  know  I  must 
look  an  old  woma,n  now  ;  happily  one  gets  iised  gTadnaliy  to 
one's  face,  but  I  am  sure  that  if  at  sixteen  we  could  ses  wait 
we  should  be  like  at  sixty,  we  should  fall  backwards  wich 
consternation  ! ' 

'  But  how  come  you  here  % '  asked  M.  Delys,  much  moved, 
as  he  recalled  her  in  the  old  life  at  St.  Aignan.  The  poor 
room,  which  had  seemed  to  him  suitable  enough  for  Edmee, 
all  at  once  looked  hardly  fit  for  a  human  being. 

'  It  will  take  too  long  to  explain  all  that,'  interposed 
Edmee. 

'  No,  no,  if  monsieur  care  to  hear.  My  tongue  has  grown 
quite  rusty  with  want  of  exercise.  Only  imagine,  dear 
monsieur,  this  child  has  been  so  fi-ightened  by  the  events  of 
these  last  years  that  she  still  insists  on  keeping  me  hidden, 
though  I  tell  her  that  no  one  can  want  my  head,  which  was 
never  worth  much,  I  daiesay — ■' 

*  She  is  right,  a  thousand  times  ria^ht,  mademoiselle. 
Your  name  alone  is  full  of  danger,  and  the  meie  sight  of  you 
would  betray  an  aristocrat.' 

*  You  say  so  because  I  acted  my  part  so  bad'y  just  now — 
■fi  done,  monsieur,  you  should  not  recall  my  failures,'  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  by  no  means  displeased  by  the 
very  sincere  compliment.  '  At  all  events  we  lived  for  a  time 
in  a  little  town  no  great  distance  from  Moulins,  where  I  had 
a  house  which  my  brother  the  Count  made  over  to  me  after 
my  dear  sister-in-law  died — you  remember  her,  monsieur  1 ' 

'  Remember  !  Ah  yes,  who  could  forget  her  1  Her  very 
name  has  always  sounded  sweeter  to  me  than  any  other.' 

Edmee  looked  with  moistened  eyes  at  the  old  man. 

'  Then  we  lived  in  a  horrible  house  in  one  part  of  Paris, 
after  that  I  had  an  experience  of  a  place,  which  made  me  find 
this  gaiTet  charming— such  is  the  life  we  have  led.' 

'  And  you  have  borne  it  all  with  such  patience !  such 
gaiety  ! '  exclaimed  Edmee. 

'It  is  thanks  to  you  that  we  have  lived  at  a''l,  my  poor 
child,  for  whatever  I  had  saved  out  of  the  wreck  of  m.y  for- 


250  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

tune — all  in  rentes  on  the  CiCrgy — came  to  an  end  long  ago 
in  my  illness.  Tliis  child  has  worked  day  and  night  for  me, 
monsieur.' 

The  two  women  exchanged  a  look  full  of  affection,  and 
Edmee  bent  to  kiss  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  forehead. 
]\I.  De1ys  noticed  the  shoi-t  curls  which  appeared  below  the 
peasant  head-dress,  and  knew  at  once  wliy  the  hair  had  been 
cut. 

'  You  are  then  one  of  the  few  who  have  been  arrested  and 
yet  escajjed  ! '  he  said,  '  Iioav  is  it  3-ou  never  sought  me  till  to- 
day 1     I  might  have  been  of  some  use.' 

*  First  of  all,  monsieur,  it  was  only  the  painting  in 
Pinard's  shop  whicli  betrayed  you,  and  then  for  months  I 
could  only  think  of  my  aunt's  health.  We  had  a  double 
reason  however  for  seeking  you ;  besides  wanting  to  learn 
from  you,  we  hoped — ' 

*  We  hoped  to  obtain  certain  information  from  you,'  con- 
tinued Mademoisel'e  de  St.  Aignan,  as  Edmee  stopped  in 
embarrassment.  '  We  thousrht  that  vou  might  suggest  some 
means  of  having  news  of  my  nephew,  who  is  in  exile.' 

*  Your  nephew,  M.  le  Chevaher,  whom  I  remember  at 
St.  Aignan  r 

'  Alas  !  now  Count  instead  of  Chevalier,  so^e  heir  of  our 
name  ;  his  father  and  brother  are  both  dead.' 

*  Unfortunately  I  never  heard  his  name  in  any  reports 
which  have  reached  me.  They  are  so  few.  I  am  the  worst 
person  whom  you  could  app'y  to.' 

'  But  try  to  learn  something ;  I  must  have  news  of  him,' 
said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  even  yet  had  not 
learned  how  powerless  her  '  must '  had  become,  nor,  with  all 
her  gi-acious  good  humour,  lost  the  feeling  that  she  honoured 
a  rohirier  by  giving  him  anything  to  do  for  her. 

'  I  was  thinking  of  you.r  family  as  I  came  here,  made- 
moiselle ;  if  I  recollect  rightly  there  was  a  cousin,  a  M.  de 
Pelven — one  has  heard  his  name  occasionally  in  these  last 
years — ' 

'  We  want  nothing  fi'om  M.  de  Pelven,'  interrupted 
Edmee. 


'SHOULD  OLD  ACQUALSTANGE  BE  FORGOT?'  251 

'  My  child,  how  iim-easoBable  you  are  !  Can  you  imagine, 
monsieur,  why  she  dreads  my  poor  cousin  as  if  he  were  all 
the  Jacobins  in  one  ?  She  imp'oies  me,  almost  with  tears, 
not  to  tell  him  where  we  are,  and  it  really  grieves  me,  for  his 
kindness  to  us  has  been  extreme  ;  he  protected  us  at  Moi'te- 
mart,  and  enabled  us  to  get  to  Paris,  where  he  used  to  visit 
us  constantly,  and  gaA'e  us  every  hope  of  obtaining  ^sermisslon 
for  my  nephew  to  return.' 

'  Ah  !  Of  coiu'se  you  know  the  part  which  he  has  taken 
in  public  affairs  1 '  began  M.  Delys,  hesitatingly,  for  he  knew 
that  diversity  of  political  opinions  had  split  vip  the  most 
attached  families. 

'  Yes,  yes,  but  his  good  heart  led  him  astray ;  he  was  not 
an  enthusiast,  far  from  it,  but  he  made  the  same  mistake  as 
so  many  others,  he  thought  it  was  enough  to  make  laws  for 
the  nation,  and  then  found  they  had  to  create  a  nation  for 
the  laws !  I  feel  sure  that  this  was  what  misled  him,'  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  had  ha^f-unconsciously 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  and  ingenuity  in  whitewashing  De 
Pelven  to  herse  f.  '  You  have  never  met  him  ?  A  delightful 
man !  he  had  all  the  tradition  of  perfect  ease  and  good 
breeding  which  is  passing  away  so  fast.  Even  if  he  merely 
said  "  Yes,  madame,"  he  said  it  as  no  one  else  could  !  This 
Revolution  will  destroy  good  manners.  Formerly  well-bred 
people  respected  the  views  of  others  ;  if  they  had  no  religion 
themselves,  for  instance,  they  never  mocked  at  those  who  had. 
All  that  is  altered  now.' 

'  I  am  afraid  that  that  is  too  true,  mademoiselle.' 
*  I  do  not  mean  that  De  Pelven  was  a  saint  or  a  hero,  nor 
a  genius  of  the  first  order,'  continued  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  Avho  mingled  a  great  deal  of  shrewd  common-sense 
with  considerable  obstinacy,  '  but  he  is  one  of  those  men 
who,  at  a  given  moment,  have  j\ist  the  right  sort  of  ta'ent 
for  the  occasion ;  they  always  strike  the  right  note,  and  that 
of  itself  makes  them  remarkable  men.  Others  fail,  who 
have  more  genius,  because  they  make  no  allowance  for 
soc'ety  not  being  composed  of  saints  and  heroes,  or  expect 
to  reach  the  promised  land  without  first  going  through  the 
deseit,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  alwaj's  expecting  that 


252  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

someoBe  will  try  to  corrupt  them.  De  Pelven  never  would 
make  tlia,t  sort  of  fatal  mistake.' 

'  He  is  more  likely  to  corrupt  otliers  ! '  murmured  Edmee 
with  a  look  of  pain  and  anger  which  did  not  escape  the  old 
painter,  who  glanced  at  her,  and  said,  '  I  have  not  heard 
much  about  him,  but  I  have  occasionally  met  him  in  the 
salon  of  a  lady  for  whom  I  painted  two  flower-pieces,  and 
whose  pictiu-e-gallery  1  undertook  to  arrange,  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  .  .  .  Madame  A-ain  is  wise.' 

'  I  cannot  understand  either  of  you,'  exclaimed  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  impatiently,  '  but  I  give  in,  niece,  I 
give  in ! ' 

'  What  does  she  call  her  1 — my  aunt— my  niece — what  is 
all  this  1 '  said  M.  Delys,  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  and  Edmee 
turned  crimson.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  hesitated,  and 
then  exclaimed,  '  Well,  they  say  truth  is  always  best ;  any- 
how it  can  do  no  harm  here.  This  child  is  my  niece,  mon- 
sieur, and  my  very  dear  niece  too,  because  one  day  she  saved  my 
nephew's  life  by  mariying  him.' 

M.  Delys  sat  dumb,  too  much  astounded  to  find  a  word  of 
answei'. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE     BIRDS     ARE    FLOWN". 


Edmj^e  was  the  first  to  speak.  The  astonishment  of  M. 
Delys  seemed  to  have  made  a  disagreeable  impression  on 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  was  silent,  and  looked 
annoyed  and  contrite.  Edmee  smiled  at  her,  and  turning  to 
M.  Delys,  said  with  gi-ave  dignity,  which  made  him  lose 
sight  in  a  measui-e  of  the  fact  that  she  was  only  a  steward's 
daughter,  not  even  one  of  that  honest  bouigeois  class  which 
the  noblesse  held  in  such  iitter  disdain,  '  Since  you  have 
heard  so  much,  monsieur,  you  had  better  hear  all.  There  is 
no  one  to  blame — not  even  myself.' 


THE  BIRDS  ARE  FLO  WN.  253 

*  Yoii,  my  dear  one !  you  acted  like  the  noble  girl  that 
you  ai-e  !  '  cried  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  and  M.  Delys, 
overwhelmed  with  astonishment,  asked  himself  what  ciicum- 
stances  could  possibly  have  bowed  the  St.  Aignan  pi'ide  to 
approve  of  such  a  mesalliance. 

'  I  feel  the  honour  which  you  do  me,  madame,'  he  an- 
swered with  respect,  adopting  quite  unconsciously  an  entirely 
different  tone  to  the  young  Comtesse  de  St.  Aignan  to  that 
which  he  had  used  with  little  Edmee  Leroux. 

'  Fii'st  of  all,  monsieur,'  interi-upted  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  drawing  Edmee  to  her  side,  '  I  must  tell  you  that 
the  Revolution  brought  dissension  into  our  family  as  into  many 
others.  My  poor  bi-other  was  bent  on  joining  the  Princes, 
and  my  nephew  would  not  fight  against  his  countrymen,  Re- 
publicans or  not ' 

'  And  he  did  well ! '  said  M.  Delys,  emphatically. 

'  Unfortunately  his  father  did  not  think  so,  and  there  wei'e 
very  painful  disputes  between  them.  The  Cheva'ier  always 
leant  to  the  views  of  his  mother's  family,  and  that  annoyed 
the  Count.  Alas !  the  closest  ties  have  been  shattered  in 
these  last  years.  Fijially,  my  brother  determined  to  fly  to 
Switzerland,  the  Chevalier  was  to  join  him  after  seeming  cer- 
tain papers  and  money  left  at  St.  Aignan — unhappily  the 
place  had  caught  the  re vokitionary  fever — this  child  heaid  the 
plans  for  his  ari'est — ■ — ' 

'  Ah,  monsiem-,  his  mother  was  my  godmother  ;  she  com- 
forted my  own  poor  mother  on  her  sick-bed — I  loved  her  so 
deai-ly ! ' 

'Madame  la  Comtesse  was  an  angel,'  said  M.  Delys. 
*  The  angels  spread  their  wings  and  fled  before  the  crimes  of 
these  years  coiild  begin.' 

'  True,  and  yet  even  now  it  is  impossible  not  to  regi-et 
her,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  ;  '  there  are  some  losses 
which  last  one  one's  life,  and  leave  our  hearts  and  arms  empty 
foi-  ever.  When  I  i-eflect  how  at  the  utmost  it  is  but  fugitive 
thoughts  which  after  a  time  we  give  to  the  dead  or  the 
absent,  it  astonishes  me  that  her  loss  is  almost  as  fiesh  to  mo 
as  ever.  No,  never  shall  I  become  reconciled  to  it.  Well, 
they  settle  to  airest  my  nephew  at  night,  and  Edmcc  \ton- 


254  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

ders  how  to  save  liim.  She  slips  out  and  runs  off  to  the 
chateau ' 

'  You  understand,  monsieur,  that  I  had  never  seen  him 
since  his  mothei-'s  death,  and  he  recollected  my  existence  ag 
little  as  you  did,'  said  Edmee,  eagerly.  The  oM  man  bowed 
gravely. 

'  She  was  not  in  time  to  effect  his  escape,'  continued 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.  '  The  people  burst  iji,  found 
them  together — there  was  a  scandalous  and  cruel  scene,  you 
can  imagine  it  for  yourself;  a  thousand  years  in  Piu-gatory 
would  hardly  ha\e  been  worse  for  this  poor  child ' 

'  I  understand  it  all.  They  sp.ared  him  on  condition  that 
he  mai-ried  her.' 

'  Yes,  monsieiu- ;  he  was  so  young  that  sui^ely  life  must 
have  been  dear  to  him,  but  I  know  he  oiily  thought  of  me,' 
and  she  lifted  up  her  do^vllcast  eyes  with  a  light  of  exulta- 
tion in  them. 

'  They  walked  all  night  to  Mortemart,  the  poor  chiVlren  ; 
he  could  not  stay,  of  couri^e,  but  he  left  this  poor  little  one 
with  me,  and  .since  then  Ave  have  heard  nothing  from  him. 
Most  unfortunately  he  did  not  know  we  were  in  Paris  when 
for  a  .short  time  he  returned  here.' 

'  You  see,  monsieur,'  .«aid  Edmee,  more  cahnV,  'that  we 
must  find  him  and  release  him  from  a  civil  bond  which  to 
Catholics  is  nothing  but  a  form.  Divorce  can  be  easily 
obtained,  only  he  must  return  and  seek  it.' 

M.  Delys  looked  at  the  elder  lady,  who  answered  by  a 
glance  which  plainly  said  that  this  was  by  no  means  what 
she  wished.  He  perceived  that  she  had  grown  so  attached  to 
the  gii-1  who  had  been  her  joy  and  support  during  this  time 
of  trial  that  she  overlooked  ber  plebeian  oi-igin.  jNIoreover, 
though  this  did  not  strike  him,  to  a  trvie  aristocrat  every- 
thing not  noble  seemed  much  on  a  level,  whether  bourgeois  or 
peasant,  and  a  marriage  with  a  financier's  daughter  would 
have  appeared  as  great  a  mesalliance  as  with  a  steward's. 
'  Poor  white  flower ! '  said  the  painter,  looking  at  Edmee, 
who  cha  rmed  him  more  and  more.  '  I  suspect  that  if  you 
did  not  love  your  husband  when  you  married,  you  have 
learned  to  do  so  since.'  Foitunately,  this  time  his  thoughts 
wei'e  not  uttered  audibly. 


THE  BIRDS  ARE  FLOWN.  255 

*  I  have  sometimes  wondered  whether  my  ne]>hew  can  be 
supporting  himself  by  painting,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan.  '  He  had  an  hereditary  love  of  it,  and  cannot  now 
be  serving  "svith  the  army,  since,  De  Pelven  says,  no  aristo- 
crats were  allowed  to  remain  with  it.' 

*  I  do  not  know  whether  we  can  quite  tiust  what  he 
said  ] '  added  Edmee  veiy  low. 

'  He  knew  that  you  were  the  wife  of  M.  de  St.  Aignan, 
madame  1 ' 

'  Perfectly  well,'  Edmee  answered  emphat'cally. 

'  This  De  Pelven  must  have  been  sorely  tempted  to  lay 
his  black  hands  on  her — she  is  enchanting !  she  steals  into 
one's  heart  unawares,'  thought  the  old  man.  '  What  did 
you  think  that  I  could  do  for  you,  mesdames  1 ' 

/We  thought  that  if  he  were  ideally  studying  art  he 
would  probably  be  in  Italy,  and  that  you  might  hear  of  him 
through  some  mutual  friend.' 

'  Then  you  only  expressed  a  wish  to  be  my  pupil  as  a 
means  of  getting  news  of  him  ? ' 

*  No,  no,  dear  monsieur,  if  you  think  me  worthy  of  such. 
an  honoiu'.  There  have  been  female  artists,  you  know — • 
Madame  Vien,  Madame  Lebrun — only  I  must  not  spend  all 
the  day  in  your  atelier,  for  I  have  my  work  for  Pinard.  I 
gain  a  good  deal  now ;  I  believe  I  could  pay  for  my  lessons ' 

'  What  lessons  1 ' 
'  Why,  yours,  I  hope.' 
'  You  are  dreaminst !  ' 

'  Are  they  so  expensive  1 '  asked  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  astonished  by  the  rough  answer. 

*  I  never  sell  my  lessons.' 

'  Then  I  have  only  to  excuse  myself  for  having  asked  the 
favour,'  said  Edmee,  much  vexed  and  surjmsed. 

*  No,  I  never  sell  my  teaching.  I  sometimes  give  it, 
I  have  already  more  money  than  I  want.  Let  me  see  what 
you  can  do.' 

He  had  become  only  the  art  judge ;  this  was  not  the  Cora- 
tesse  de  St.  Aignan  before  him,  but  an  aspirant  to  enter  the 
sanctuary,  and  he  frowned  as  he  turned  fi-om  a  group  of 
flowers  which  he  had  studied  for  a  long  time  in  silence,  to 
the  fans  and  boxes  which  she  humbly  placed  before  him.    Her 


2r)6  IfOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

heart  sank  at  ids  protracted  silence,  nor  was  Ms  tone  re- 
a^surin^  when  he  suddenly  be^an,  '  What  !  do  you  mean 
that  you  do  tliLs  kind  of  rubbish  ?  You  have  reached  this 
pont  vrithout  a  master,  and  you  waste  your  time,  you  spoil 
your  manner  by  paiutins  boxes  and  fans  !  It  is  shameful,  it 
is  unpardonab  e,  I  tell  you  ! ' 

'  Dear  master,  we  have  to  live,'  said  Edm^e,  smiling,  and 
much  relieved. 

'  Live  ! '  said  the  painter,  contemptuously.  *  What  is 
life  to  art?  Is  there  not  rubbish  enough  ah-eady  in  the 
world  without  adding  to  it?  Live!  No  one  can  be  aoi 
artist  who  cannot  sacrifice  himself.' 

'  But  not  other.'^,'  said  Edmee,  lowering  her  voice  as  she 
looked  towards  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  was  trying 
to  comprehend  why  the  old  man  was  indignant,  and  asked  in 
great  disappointment,  '  Does  she  paint  badly  then  1  I 
thouorht  she  did  so  well !  ' 

'  And  so  she  does ! '  exclaimed  M.  Delys,  remorsefully. 
*  I  am  an  old  fool,  that  is  all.  Pardon  my  incivility, 
madam^.' 

'  I  had  rather  you  called  me  "  mon  enfant,"  as  you  did 
this  morning,'  said  Edmee,  with  her  irresistible  sweetness. 
'  Or  your  pupil.' 

*  So  you  shall  be — both,  dear  child,  both,'  he  answered, 
kissing  the  hand  which  she  had  put  into  his,  and  entirely  for- 
getting the  misanthropy  on  which  he  prided  himself.  '  Lis- 
ten, I  have  sevei-al  rooms  in  the  Lonvre ;  you  shall  occupy 
them  with  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  and  everyone  shall 
suppose  you  ai-e  my  daughter.  You  could  not  have  a  safer, 
more  imsuspected  asylum.  For  everyone  you  will  be 
Madame  Alain.     Do  you  consent  1 ' 

*  With  all  my  heart,  if  my  aunt  agree.' 

'  Certainly,  when  one  is  asked  to  exchange  a  garret  for 
the  Lou\T."e  one  is  hardly  likely  to  decline,'  laughed  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan.  *  Once  before  I  lodged  in  a  palace,  but 
there  I  had  no  choice  whether  to  accept  or  decline  the  invi- 
tation. I  confess  this  is  more  acceptable.  I  only  hope  that 
I  need  not  go  on  foot ;  for  I  am  .stout,  as  you  see,  and  I  find 
that  high  heels  do  not  accord  with  walking.  I  tried  once  to 
do  without  them,  but  then  I  could  not  walk  at  all.' 


THE  BIRDS  ABB  FLOWN.  257 

'  We  will  arrange  all  that,'  said  M.  Delys,  delighted  with 
his  plan,  and  the  radiant  pleasm-e  which  lighted  up  Edmee's 
face.  '  There  ai  e  many  reasons  why  the  plan  suits  me — do  not 
thank  me,  I  beg,  I  detest  thanks ;  I  suggest  this  simply  for 
my  own  p'.easiu-e.  I  never  do  kindnesses,  as  you  will  find. 
You  will  work  in  my  atelier  and  be  my  comimjnonne^  he 
added,  smiling,  and  ]2dmee  retui-ned  the  sxni  e  as  she  heard 
the  familiar  patois  v/ord. 

*  Yes,  yes,  so  I  will,'  she  answered. 

*  And  you  will  call  me  father  The  added,  wistfully,  but  at 
that  the  bright  look  fled,  for  the  word  recalled  nothing  but 
what  was  painful.  '  If  you  wish  it,'  she  said  reluctantly ; 
'  but  I  like  mon  mattre  better.' 

As  M.  Delys  left  the  room  she  detained  him  to  whisper, 
*  Piemember  we  are  Madame  Alain  and  Mademoiselle  Valen- 
tin, and  above  all,  let  no  word  of  us  reach  that  M.  de  Pelven, 
of  whom  we  spoke.' 

He  nodded  with  full  understanding,  and  she  began  making 
preparations  for  their  sudden  move,  which  was  to  take  p-ace 
the  next  day,  and  must  be  broken  to  Madelon,  who  could  not 
be  expected  to  be  well  pleased.  Madelon  was  far  from  pleased, 
but  she  was  a  reasonable  woman,  and  juster  than  landladies 
usually  are.  '  Well,  well,'  she  said,  when  the  news  had  been 
imparted,  '  it  is  everyone  for  himself  in  tliis  world,  and  if  you 
have  a  friend  who  will  receive  you,  I  sujjpose  you  will  go, 
though  it  is  a  loss  to  me.  I  shall  perhaps  not  let  this  room 
as  well  again,  and  I  shall  miss  lajyetite,  though  no  doubt  after 
a  time  I  shall  get  other  lodgers.  My  rooms  are  never  long 
empty.     Madelon  Crocq  is  v/ell  known  in  the  quarter.' 

'  To  think  we  have  been  here  so  long,  and  the  woman  can 
let  us  go  v.dth  so  little  sentiment ! '  whispered  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  to  Edmee. 

'  And  since  you  are  decidedly  going,  after  all  perhaps  it  is 
best,'  pursued  Made^.on.  '  I  was  in  two  minds  whether  to  tell 
you  or  not,  but  this  morning  a  fellow  came  here  asking  if  I 
had  rooms  to  let,  and  who  my  lodgers  were,  and  whether  I 
had  not  a  young  girl  and  a  middle-agpd  woman  with  me,  and 
a  dozen  other  questions.' 

*  But  who  could  he  have  been  ? '  .  • 


258  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  I  know  not ;  some  mouchard,  I  suppose.' 

*  What  did  you  tell  him  % ' 

*  As  little  as  possible,  you  may  be  sure  ;  b\it  I  could  see  he 
had  been  making  enquii'ies  in  the  quarter  and  knew  sometliing.' 

'  Why  did  you  not  tell  us  at  once  ] ' 

'  It  might  have  frightened  you  away,  and  lost  me  a  good 
tenant,  for  that  you  really  have  been.  I  have  nothing  to 
complain  of.  And  after  all  it  may  mean  nothing ;  one  should 
not  notice  every  little  thing.' 

'  It  means  that  De  Pelven  is  again  in  Paris ! '  Edm^e 
said  to  hei-self,  while  IMadcmoiselle  de  8t.  Aignan  was  question- 
ing Madelon  wii'.i  more  interest  and  amusement  than  anxiety, 
as  to  all  which  this  supposed  moucJiard  had  said  and  done, 
and  the  hours  seemed  terribly  long  to  her  until  they  were 
safely  out  of  the  IMaison  Crocq,  on  their  way  to  the  Louvi-e, 
without  having  told  Madelon  what  their  destination  was. 
Indeed  that  prudent  woman  declined  to  know  it.  '  What  I 
have  never  heard  I  cannot  tell,'  said  she,  '  I  ask  no  ques- 
tions. You  have  paid  me  well,  and  that  is  all  which  concerns 
me,'  and  she  sco'ded  her  husband  as  he  stood  looking  after 
the  fiacre  which  conveyed  her  lodgers  away,  and  told  him 
there  was  no  need  to  see  which  way  it  tiu-ned.  She  was 
sna})pish  a^l  day,  and  pulled  the  fiirnitui-e  in  the  empty  room 
about  with  unnecessary  vigour,  and  answered  shortly  Avhen 
Madame  Amat  cried  a  little  over  the  flowers  which  Edmee 
had  bequeathed  to  her,  but  everyone  accepted  it  as  a  matter 
of  course  that  when  jNIadelon  was  sony  she  should  be  cross. 
It  was  a  gi-eat  satisfaction  to  her  to  see  the  mouchard 
hanging  about  that  cA^ening,  watching  the  house.  He  did  not 
appear  again ;  the  neighbours  told  him  that  there  had  been  a 
flitting  that  day  from  the  Maison  Crocq,  and  so  De  Pelven 
foimd  that  once  more  his  prey  had  slipped  thi'ough  his  fingers. 


BALMAT  IN  HIS  STUDIO.  250 

CHAPTER  XXXL 

BALMAT     IN     HIS     STUDIO. 

Although  the  Louvre  was  a  palace,  in  some  respects  it  re- 
sembled the  Maison  Crocq.  Evil  smells,  noise,  and  disorder 
pervaded  it,  and  the  followers  of  the  classic  school,  exaggerat- 
ing, as  ahvays,  the  doctrines  of  their  master,  used  to  amuse 
themselves  at  the  same  time  as  they  expressed  their  contempt 
for  what  they  styled  '  those  unworthy  Italians,'  by  playing 
tennis  against  the  paintings  put  away  and  forgotten  in  the 
galleries. 

The  Louvre  had  gone  through  its  own  special  revolution 
since  the  days  when  a  Court  inhabited  it ;  an  aristocracy  still 
dwelt  there,  but  it  was  the  ai-istocracy  of  talent,  often  as  piti- 
essly  exclusive  and  overbearing  as  that  of  birth.  JMademoi- 
selle  de-  St.  Aignan  and  Edmee  were  added  to  the  many  artists' 
families  already  established  there  without  exciting  any  ques- 
tion. Everyone  knew,  liked,  and  laughed  pleasantly  at  the 
old  paiater,  whose  oddities  made  him  rather  moie  than  less 
popular,  and  at  any  other  time  there  would  no  doubt  have 
been  considerable  sm-prise  at  this  sudden  apparition  of  his 
'daughter,'  v/ith  an  elderly  lady,  whom  he  called  Mademoi- 
selle Valentin,  and  ti-eated  with  extreme  deference.  But 
now  for  several  years  everyone  had  been  living  in  such  peril 
and  retii-ement  that  nobody  knew  or  cared  to  knov/  his  neigh- 
bour's concerns,  and  no  appearance  or  disappearance  excited 
much  wonder.  To  all  but  Ba  mat  Edmee  was  M.  Delys' 
daughter,  and  someone  having  heard  that  her  husband's  fate 
was  unknovv^n,  her  position  was  at  once  recognised,  and  she 
was  accepted  as  a  permanent  inhabitant  of  the  '  Atelier  du 
Lys,'  as  it  was  now  universally  called  ;  for  Balmat's  name  for  it 
took  the  fancy  of  his  fellow-pupils,  and  not  a  few  sketches  were 
made  surreptitiously  or  fi-oin  memory  of  'the  white-armed 
daughter  of  Fingal,'  as  they  named  her,  from  the  poems  which 
were  becoming  a  sort  of  text-book  to  the  artists  of  that  day. 

Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  fitted  admii-ably  into  the  sin- 


260  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

gular  society  in  which  she  now  found  herself.  She  had,  as 
Edmee  knew,  the  happy  faculty  of  adapting  hei'self  to  all  cir- 
cumstances, with  an  invincible  good  humour  which  had  been 
priceless  to  them  both,  but  there  had  been  a  time  when  her 
very  lightheartedness  had  made  her  enemies.  It  was  impos- 
sible for  her  to  refrain  from  a  jest.  '  Let  me  say  it,  and  then 
if  I  must  I  will  ask  pardon,'  she  would  exclaim  ;  but  in  this 
artist-workl  ready  v/it  or  raillery  only  amused,  and  called 
forth  retorts  which  she  took  in  the  best  part.  In  o  one  could 
ever  forget  in  conversing  with  her  that  she  was  a  person  of 
la  bonne  compagnie.  A  circle  of  men,  young  and  old,  was 
sure  to  gather  round  her  of  an  evening,  deserting  for  her  far 
younger  and  prettier  per-ions  ;  M.  Delys  had  unawares  created 
a  salon  when  he  installed  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  in  the 
Louvre,  and  she  was  by  no  means  indifferent  to  the  compli- 
ments of  this  literary  and  artistic  world,  where  beauty  or  talent 
alone  were  prized.  She  was  infinitely  more  popular  than 
Edmec,  who  had  other  things  to  think  of  than  to  amuse  or 
please,  and  cared  nothing  at  all  for  admii-ation,  to  a  degree 
which  IMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  could  not  but  feel  an  abso- 
lute  fault  and  failm-e  in  a  woman's  first  duty.  Edmee  v/as 
one  to  steal  unawares  into  a  few  hearts,  and  reign  there  ever- 
more, and  be  amply  satisfied  with  her  kingdom,  and  to  all 
outside  of  it  she  was  culpably  indifTerent,  as  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  observed  with  a  distress  almost  comic  to 
M.  Delys,  in  one  of  their  many  confidential  conversations. 
It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  politeness  no  longer  put  life  in 
pei'il,  for  to  save  his  head  he  could  not  have  said  '  tu '  to 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aisrnan.  He  could  not  recover  from  his 
astonishment  at  her  gay  contentment  when  he  thought  in 
what  different  circumstances  he  had  known  her,  and  he 
admii-ed  as  surprising  philosophy  what  was  chiefly  the  effect 
of  a  happy  disposition.  If,  however,  it  had  been  possible  for 
him  to  quo.ri-el  with  her  he  would  have  done  so  every  day 
which  they  spent  together ;  for  she  professed  entire  disbelief 
in  the  bad  character  which  he  loved  to  give  himself,  disputed 
the  fact  of  his  cynicism,  and  assured  him  that  he  had  one  of 
the  kindest  hearts  in  the  world.  Since  respect  would  not 
allow  him  to  contradict  her  flatly,  he  could  only  walk  up  and 


BAL3IAT  IN  HIS  STUDIO.  2G1 

down,  pusliing  his  wig  despairingly  on  one  side,  and  protesting 
vehemently,  to  the  delight  of  their  audience ;  for  these  scenes 
generally  took  place  after  his  day's  work  was  over,  and  a 
more  or  less  niirnerous  ch'cle  of  visitors  was  gathered  in  the 
room  which  he  had  furnished  and  made  over  to  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  as  her  salon. 

'  What  merit  is  there — can  there  be  ra  offering  a  home  to  a 
person  who  is — who  is — in  short  who  is  my  daughter's  aunt  1 ' 
he  would  exclaim,  growing  hopelessly  embarrassed  as  he  recol- 
lected that  he  must  not  say  who  '  Mademoiselle  Valentin '  was. 

This  warfare  amused  Edmee  not  a  little ;  she  was  learn- 
ing to  laugh  as  well  as  to  paint.  Never  had  the  poor  child 
led  so  peaceful  a  life,  though  haimted  by  the  thought  of  the 
bond  by  which  she  was  fettered.  Sometimes  she  would  call 
herself  by  the  name  which  she  was  resolved  never  to  bear, 
but  which  she  loved  so  much.  '  Edmee  de  St.  Aignan,'  she 
would  whisper,  with  a  sort  of  fear,  not  without  its  charm. 
*  Ah,  it  is  a  pity !  .  .  .'  and  the  sentence  ended  in  a  sigh. 
Daily  she  watched  M.  Delys'  face  to  see  if  he  had  had  any  news, 
but  none  came,  and  perhaps  the  old  artist,  happy  in  the  pupil 
whom  he  had  so  unexpectedly  obtained,  and  not  displeased 
with  the  new  life  which  had  sprung  up  aroimd  liim,  made  no 
very  strenuous  efforts  to  obtain  any,  and  gradually  her  art 
begao  to  alasorb  her  moi-e  and  more,  leaving  litt'e  room  for 
other  thoughts.  M.  De'ys  took  such  delisrht  in  her  painting 
that  he  ha^f  forgot  his  own,  and  wou'.d  allow — unlieard  of 
thing!  — the  flowers  ])efore  him  to  fade,  while  he  advi.sed  her 
what  colours  to  use,  or  confided  to  her  some  method  invented 
by  himself  of  producing  the  transparent  effect  of  a  petal,  or 
the  vv^rinkled  or  lustrous  surface  of  a  leaf  The  only  condition 
which  he  made  on  adopting  her  as  pupil  and  daughter  was 
that  she  should  cease  to  work  for  anyone  else,  and  she  could 
not  object,  since,  as  her  adopted  father,  he  insisted  on  paying 
all  the  ex|)enses  of  herself  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan ; 
it  made  him  happy,  and  on  this  point  he  was  inflexib'e.  A 
new  life  had  begun  for  the  old  man,  sbice  his  white  li'y  had 
taken  root  in  his  atelier,  and  he  poured  out  all  the  tenderness 
which  had  been  stored  up  in  his  heart  almost  unknown  to 
himself,  on  the  head  of  this  girl,  who  seemed  come  to  give 


203  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

him  the  home  affections  which  he  had  always  longed  for  and 
never  known,  and  to  continue  his  fame.  He  made  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan  smile  hy  his  adoration  of  his  pupi',  hut 
she  could  not  entirely  concur  in  the  satisfaction  with  which 
he  saw  Edraee's  devotion  to  ai"t. 

'  It  is  fatal  to  her  success  in  a  social  point  of  view,'  she 
would  urge.  *  She  might  as  well  be  absorbed  in  a  grande 
passion.  In  my  nephew's  absence  I  gi'ant  you  it  may  be  a 
useful  safeguard,  but  it  is  not  natural ;  she  will  be  more  the 
artist  than  the  woman,  and  the  question  will  be,  will  Alain 
care  for  her?     A  woman's  chief  duty  is  to  charm.' 

*  She  haa  not  a  beauty  de  passeporf,'  M.  Delys  wouVl 
answer,  with  gi-eat  impatience,  '  but  whoever  has  a  soul  must 
be  enchanted  with  her.' 

'  Ah,  my  good  friend,  you  forget  what  young  men  are. 
My  nephew  is  young,  all  his  illusions  still  fresh,  he  is  full  of 
life,  of  energy,  he  cannot  have  aiiy  of  the  qualities  of  a 
husband.  When  one  is  over  thii-ty,  when  a  man  has 
exhausted  life,  he  fee^s  that  it  is  time  to  many,  to  settle 
down,  even  if  he  does  not  intend  to  live  en  bourgeois,  a,  hum- 
drum domestic  life — but  a  young  nob'e,  like  Alain — ' 

'  If  he  cannot  appreciate  our  treasure,  let  him  stay  away 
or  divorce  her,  mademoiselle  ! '  cried  M.  De'ys,  exasperated, 
though  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was  only  expressing 
sentiments  perfectly  in  accord  with  the  iisual  manner  of  speak- 
ing and  feeling  of  her  class  and  time  ;  '  What !  he  finds  a  lily 
■with  a  golden  heart  only  waiting  to  be  gathei'ecl,  and  hesitates  ! ' 

*  You  are  romantic,  my  poor  friend  !  I  know  the  world 
"better  than  you  do.  Now  for  my  part  I  could  wish  that  the 
child  would  spend  a  little  time  over  accomplishments,  such  as 
dancing,  instead  of  tliose  perpetual  paints  of  yours.  It  is  of 
inestimable  value  to  dance  well — indispensable  to  men  or 
women.  I  have  known  a  most  excellent,  charming  person 
fail  to  make  a  good  impression,  because  he  bowed  awkwardly 
in  the  minuet,  on  a  spectator  whose  approbation  and  esteem 
he  would  have  given  half  his  fortune  to  obtain.  But  that 
fh'st  unhappy  impression  never  coiild  be  effaced.  It  was  im- 
possible. That  excellent  M.  de  Malesherbes  himself ' — in  the 
aadom'  of  her  discoiu'se  she  had  for  a  moment  forgotten  the 


BALMAT  ZF  HIS  STUDIO.  263 

tiasic  associations  connected  with  that  venerated  name  of 
the  good  and  bi-ave  man,  who  from  assured  safety  retiu-ned  to 
plead  in  the  defence  of  his  King,  and  perished  with  all  his 
family  on  the  scaffold,  but  they  returned  upon  her  as 
M.  De'ys  involuntarily  bent  his  head  in  reverence,  and  for  a 
moment  she  was  silent,  but  then,  gaining  additional  strength 
from  the  deep  respect  wliich  was  universally  felt  for  the 
subject  of  her  moral,  she  resumed,  'Well,  Marcel  said  of  him 
to  his  father  that  considering  the  awkvrardness  of  his  gait  he 
would  never  get  on  either  in  the  magistracy  or  the  army.  "  He 
will  never  make  a  dancer  as  long  as  he  lives,"  Marcel  declared, 
"  the  only  reasonable  plan  is  to  let  him  enter  the  Chui-ch." ' 

'  The  event  proved  him  wrong,'  observed  M.  Delys  drily. 

'  Yes,  but  what  I  want  you  to  see  is  how  much  is  felt  to 
depend  on  good  dancing.  That  feeling  at  least  is  unchanged, 
even  in  these  days  when  Paris  is  become  a  place  where  a  few 
madmen  aie  shut  up,  but  a  gi-eat  many  more  are  loose.  Do 
you  not  see,  dear  monsieur,  in  these  disorganised  times  we  are 
absolutely  bound  to  keep  up  civilised  manners  and  habits  1 
That  is  why  I  have  resumed  powder;  it  has  always  been 
held  as  a  thing  that  civilised  nations  could  not  dispense  with. 
Once  re^ax  aU  those  little  matters,  as  foolish  people  call  them, 
and  it  is  like  letting  in  that  trickle  of  water  which  soon  melts 
away  the  dyke  which  keeps  out  the  sea.' 

M.  Delys  took  off  his  round  wig  and  contemplated  it,  as 
he  was  accustomed  to  do  when  an  argument  failed  him,  but 
he  did  not  look  convinced. 

'  On  one  thing  at  least  we  ai-e  both  agi'eed,'  said  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  '  there  shall  be  no  other  Countess  than 
our  little  Edmee.' 

*  Yes,  certainly,  yes  .  .  .  bixt  she  seems  so  contented,  so 
happy  as  she  is  ;  it  is  a  vast  pity  to  distract  her  thoughts  from 
art ;  she  makes  progi-ess,  wonderful  pi-ogi-ess,  and  if  your 
nephew  should  return  it  might  fill  her  mind  with  other 
things,  but  still  1  suppose  one  must  put  up  with  it.' 

'  Fill  her  mind  with  other  things  !  I  should  hope  so. 
And  tben  I  myself.  My  nephew  is  the  only  one  left  alive 
of  my  family  now  ;  I.  want  him.  Hush,  there  she  is ;  not  a 
word  of  a,ll  this.     We  are  going  to  surprise  our  good  Swiss  in 


264  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

his  comical  studio  ;  ho  will  give  no  account  of  himself  or  his 
doings,  and  Edmee  thinks  he  looks  out  of  spirits,  so  we  sha'l 
go  and  cheer  him.  Imagine,  that  poor  feVow  was  so  poor 
last  winter  that  he  had  to  go  to  bed  at  five  o'clock  many 
evenings  because  he  was  too  cold  to  sit  up,  and  had  no  fuel  or 
oil  for  his  lamp  !  We  only  found  it  out  by  accident — indeed, 
Edmee  was  too  much  occupied  by  my  illness  to  think  of  any- 
thing else,  and  only  learned  it  from  his  joy  when  someone  or 
other  paid  him  a  trifle  for  keeping  an  atelier  in  order.' 

*  He  would  not  gain  much  by  that,'  grunted  M.  Delys,  so 
snappishly  that  she  instantly  perceived  who  the  benefactor 
had  been,  and  playfal]y  threatened  him  with  her  finger.  '  Ah, 
the  bad  man  !  the  ci-uel  cynic,  who  never  does  a  charitable 
action  !  have  I  met  with  him  again  1  It  is  astonishing  how 
he  Ls  always  crossing  my  path  ! ' 

'  I  cannot  have  everything  deep  in  dust,  mademoiselle, 
and  have  no  time  to  attend  to  such  matter's  myself.  Dust  is 
my  greatest  enemy — ruins  oil-painting.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  !     Adieu,  since  our  fiacre  waits.' 

The  little  expedition  pleased  and  amused  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan,  who  had  a  very  kindly  feeling  towards  Balmat, 
though  she  had  not  found  him  amusing,  which  was  always  a 
crime  in  her  eyes,  and  Edmee  had  resolved  to  see  for  herse'f 
what  were  the  hopes  for  the  painting  which  she  knew  he  had 
been  secretly  working  at  for  months,  too  timid  and  dis- 
heartened to  do  so  before  his  fellow-students,  and  only  giving 
it  such  time  as  he  could  spfire  from  avowed  work  in  the 
atelier  with  them.  Happily  for  him  no  one  but  Isnai-d  had 
ever  discovered  the  refuge  which  he  had  found  in  the  dese- 
crated cloister,  and  thei'e  at  least  he  could  work  unmolested 
by  any  outward  and  visible  difficulties,  though  after  all  his 
worst  foe  was  the  hereditaiy  depression  always  lying  in  wait 
to  spiing  out  and  seize  him,  and  which  was  as  certain  in  such 
a  temperament  to  follow  success  as  unsuccess,  clutcliing  its 
victim,  and  with  a  pitiless  finger  pointing  out  each  fault  and 
fiiilure,  overwhelming  him  with  the  sense  '  of  incompletion  in 
the  face  of  what  was  won,'  and  veiling  all  merits  just  when 
all  around  would  suppose  him  rejoicing  in  a  completed  task. 

The  departure  of  Edmee  from  the  Maison  Crocq  had  been 


BALMAT  IN  HIS  STUDIO.  J>G5 

a  gTeat  misfortune  for  Balmat,  who  lost  in  her  his  chief 
interest  in  daily  life,  the  one  person  to  whom  he  conkl  speak 
freely  of  home,  of  difficulties,  of  discouragements,  who  was 
sure  that  he  had  talent,  however  rebellious,  and  out  of  the 
very  happiness  of  her  own  pi-ogress  sympathised  keenly  with 
those  who  seemed  toiling  in  vain.  He  diil  not  often  seek  her 
in  the  Lou\i-e ;  of  an  evening  there  was  too  gay  a  circle  in 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's  salon  for  him  to  feel  at  ease 
there,  and  they  could  only  exchange  a  few  v/ords  when  he 
came  in  according  to  old  habit  to  arrange  the  atelier  of 
M.  Delys,  and  feed  the  stove.  He  missed  Edmee  exceedingly, 
but  was  too  humble  to  guess  that  she  could  miss  him,  or  how 
happy  it  was  for  her  to  have  come  in  contact  with  so  candid 
and  pure  a  mind  as  his,  whose  faith  was  more  tolerant,  but 
perhaps  moic  securely  rooted  than  her  own  :  to  know  Balmat 
had  widened  her  sympathies.  At  first  indeed  she  shrank 
timidly  from  points  on  which  they  must  disagree,  and  felt  as 
if  his  heresy  set  an  impassable  gulf  betv/een  them,  though  she 
could  not  feel  the  horror  and  aversion  which  she  might  have 
done  had  they  met  accidentally  in  quiet  times,  nor  did  she 
experience  the  disdain  of  a  born  aristocrat  for  what  she  would 
have  been  taught  to  think  '  a  boui-geoise  religion.'  It  was 
not  through  controversy,  but  through  contact  that  she  un- 
awares imbibed  some  of  his  \T.ews,  and  learned  that  be'owthe 
suiface  his  faith  and  hers  rested  on  the  same  foundation. 
Intimate  acquaintance  with  one  of  another  land,  educated  in 
a  way  novel  to  her,  covild  not  but  enlarge  her  mind,  but 
Balmat  had  done  more  for  her  than  this.  He  had  given  her 
a  sense  of  protection  vvdiich  had  kept  her  from  sinking  under 
anxiety  and  loneliness,  and  had  strengthened  her  wavermg 
belief  in  goodness  and  truth  at  a  critical  period  of  her  life. 
Theii-s  was  a  very  pure  and  perfect  friendship,  founded  on 
mutual  esteem  and  affection,  with  gi-atitude  on  each  side, 
though  neither  was  fully  aware  what  each  had  done  for  the 
other.  The  visit  of  the  two  ladies  evidently  startled  him,  but 
he  received  them  cheerfully,  and  showed  Mademoiselle  do  St. 
Aignan  all  the  arrangements  which  he  had  made  for  his 
studio.  Art  was  to  him  too  sacred  a  thing  for  the  idea  to 
occur   that  be  v/as  profaning   a  consecrated   place  by  thus 


266  IfOBLESSE  OBLIGE, 

establishing  himself  iii  it,  and  indeed  churches  and  cloisters 
•wore  at  that  time  turned  to  far  less  holy  purjwses  than  this, 
and  had  few  tenants  as  innocent  and  reverent  as  the  young 
Swiss.  His  good  sense  always  helped  him  effectually  in  all 
practical  matters,  and  he  had  constructed  a  studio  very 
cleveriy  at  little  or  no  cost.  There  were  only  absolute  neces- 
saries in  it,  but  he  had  space  and  a  well-managed  light,  and 
a  half-finished  painting  stood  on  the  easel.  His  visitors  came 
to  inspect  it,  jMademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  vratching  the  face 
of  Edniee  to  be  guided  to  a  just  opinion,  and  Balmat  watched 
it  too,  knowing  well  that  though  pei-sonal  feeding  would  lead 
her  to  jixdge  tenderly,  honesty  and  love  of  art  would  be 
stronger  still.  It  proved  as  he  expected,  for  a  look  of  iiTe- 
pressible  disappointment  stole  over  her  countenance,  as  she 
stood  contemplating  the  painting,  whose  cold,  pale  cori'ect- 
ness  and  flat  smoothness  of  handling  were  peculiarly  un- 
pleasing  to  an  eye  accustomed  to  delight  in  colour,  and 
unversed  in  anatomical  merits.  Balmat's  wistful  look  changed 
into  a  patient  and  humble  resignation.  '  I  know  your 
opinion  already,'  he  said,  then  turning  to  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  '  And  what  do  you  think  of  it,  mademoiselle  1 ' 

'  I  ! — I  am  no  judge,  my  dear  Balmat,'  .she  answered,  add- 
ing later  to  Edmee  in  private, '  You  know,  ma  hdh,  I  could  not 
tell  him  I  thought  it  liideous,  though  that  is  what  it  seemed 
to  me — '  and  after  a  fiu-ther  considei'ation,  she  asked,  *  What 
is  the  subject  ? ' 

*  Thetis  bearing  armour  to  her  son  Achilles.' 

She  looked  at  it  again,  evidently  trying  to  find  something 
agreeable  to  sav. 

'I  suppose  it  is  only  just  begun"?'  she  suggested.  'One 
cannot  tell  yet  what  it  will  be,  or  perhaps  it  was  your  first 
picture  ? ' 

The  eyes  of  Balmat  and  Edmee  met ;  hei-s  were  full  of 
sympathy,  and  he  smiled,  but  it  was  a  painful  smile. 

'  Mademoiselle  youi-  aunt  is  a  severe  critic/  he  said,  un- 
consciously pushing  his  palette  away. 

'  I  am  siu'e  she  would  gi-eatly  ]ike  to  see  some  of  yoiu* 
sketches  of  every-day  life,  Jacques,'  said  Edmee,  who  some- 
times called  him  so  when  she  wished  especially  to  please  or 


BALMAT  m  HIS  STUDIO.  267 

encourage  him  ;  *  do  show  her  some,'  and  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  aware  that  she  had  somehow  said  the  wrong  thing, 
hastened  to  express  _gi-eat  desire  to  see  the  sketches.  Her 
assumed  interest  soon  became  real,  for  what  Balmat  now 
I  placed  before  her  were  vigorous  portraits  of  what  she  per- 
fectly understood,  as  forc-ble  and  Kving  as  his  classical  subject 
was  lifeless. 

'  Why,  siu-ely  these  are  admirable  ! '  she  exclaimed,  forget- 
ting to  look  to  Edmee  for  leave  to  admire.  '  I  told  you  I  was 
no  judge,  but  these  seem  actually  living.  See,  my  child,  this 
one  wliich  he  calls  "  mon  bel  ceiilet,"  this  gii'l  selling  flowers, 
how  she  turns  her  head,  and  looks  up  to  offer  her  bouqiiets 
with  a  little  inviting  aii* — and  here,  this  old  woman  sitting 
selling  brooms  ;  I  seem  to  have  seen  her  a  do?:en  times,  though 
that  is  only  because  she  is  so  truly  the  broom-seller.  This  I 
understand.     Show  me  some  more,  my  dear  Balmat.' 

'  They  are  indeed  admirable,  Jacques,'  sa'd  Edmee.  '  How 
you  have  impioved ;  you  have  overcome  all  your  diiiiculty  of 
dealing  with  colour  in  these  sketches ;  one  never  suspects  you 
— forgive  me,  my  good  Balmat ! — vv'hen  one  sees  these  of  being 
more  the  engraver  than  the  painter.' 

'  It  is  unfortunate  for  me  that  I  learned  to  enorrave  watch- 
cases  under  my  father,'  said  Balmat.  '  I  never  can  shake  off 
the  effects  of  that  training.' 

*  No,  one  sees  it  when  you  try  to  paint  in  David's  manner, 
but  not  here.' 

''But  what  is  this  1  Ah,  cidl  how  could  you  draw  thLs  % ' 
exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  as  Balmat  placed 
before  her  a  black  robed  figure,  with  hands  hanging  down  but 
clasped  together,  and  a  look  of  tearless,  unutterable  woe,  as  of 
one  crushed  by  guilt,  but  guilt  not  her  own. 

*  Antigone,'  answered  Balmat,  shortly. 

*  But  that  tells  me  nothing  !  I  know  not — I  have  for- 
gotten who  yoiu'  Antigone  was.  Does  Corneille  speak  of  her  % 
Take  it  away  !  What  is  the  use  of  painting  such  a  thing  % 
It  vvill  haunt  me  ! ' 

*  It  is  wonderful  ! '  said  Edmee,  low,  and  ho^.ding  it  fast. 
*  Jacques,  I  had  no  idea  you  could  paint  thus  !  You  are  a 
true  painter  !  ' 


268  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

But  Ealmat  did  not  seem  gladdened  by  the  marvelling 
admiration  with  whidi  Edmee  gazed  at  the  sketch. 

*  I  did  not  imagine  it ;  it  is  only  a  portrait,'  he  said,  sighing. 

*  A  portrait !  and  whose  ] ' 

*  I  do  not  know.  It  was  a  fixce  which  I  had  a  glimpse 
of  in  the  Luxembourg,  and  it  would  not  let  me  rest  until  I 
had  it  on  canvas.' 

'  Ah,  it  is  a  portrait,'  sa'd  Edmee,  much  disappointed ; 
but  after  a  pause  she  said,  '  How  excellently  you  have 
managed  the  light,  and  the  simple,  straight  folds  of  the 
drapery,  and  yet  they  do  not  recall  a  model,  or  a  statue's. 
There  is  more  there  than  a  mere  porti-ait.  Do  you  know,  I 
think  you  have  been  making  a  mistake  all  this  time  ]  Why 
do  you  persist  in  attempting  classic  subjects  which  nobody 
can  put  any  heart  into  1  We  are  not  Greeks  or  Romans, 
and  nover  shall  be,  however  hard  we  try — the  Greeks  and 
Romans  are  bmied,  and  we  shall  never  bring  them  to  life 
again,  or  forget  we  are  French,  and  live  in  the  eighteenth 
century.' 

Balmat  shook  his  head,  and  remarked  that  without  know- 
ing it  she  v>^as  talking  in  a  vei-y  revolutionary  manner. 

'  It  is  true,  however,'  observed  Mademoiselle  do  St. 
Aisman  ;  '  we  forc^et  too  much  that  nations  and  ideas  die  and 
are  buried,  and  cannot  be  revived.' 

'  If  I  were  you,'  pursued  Edmee,  earnestly, '  I  would  make 
paintings  from  life,  and  nothing  else  ;  from  daily  scenes  which 
make  one  smile  and  sigh.  That  is  what  you  are  meant  to 
do,  it  is  evident.' 

'  Flower-gii-ls — gc'-gne  2Jetitsl '  said  Balmat,  shaking  his 
head,  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile.  '  Yes,  I  can  do  tliose — a  j  many 
pochades  as  you  will.' 

'  And  do  them  as  veiy  few  can !  Your  2^ochades  are 
superb  !  It  is  clear  that  you  ought  to  do  them  !  Did  not 
that  Da^^.d  whom  you  worship  say  the  other  day  to  one  of 
you  that  he  wished  you  to  paint  according  to  your  nature, 
and  not  against  it  1  Did  he  not  tell  you  that  Natm-e  was 
the  only  teacher  who  never  eried  ? ' 

'  Yes,  you  are  right ;  but  what  would  our  poor  master  say 
if  all  the  i-esult  of  his  efforts,  of  his  teaching  to  make  art 


BALMAT  m  BIS  STUDIO.  269 

return  to  its  ancient  pimty — he  who  is  now  striving  to 
become  more  truly  Greek,  as  he  says — if  a  pupil  of  his  took 
up  a  line  like  Boucher  or  Va''entin  1 '  said  Balmat,  dismayed 
by  Edmee's  audacity,  and  feeling  to  his  lingers'  ends  the 
pi-obable  sarcasms  of  David,  whose  imperious  and  domineering 
temper,  combined  with  his  great  i-eputation,  told  very  dis- 
advantageously  on  the  humbler  and  moi-e  timid  of  his  scholai'S, 
even  after  they  had  long  left  his  atelier. 

*  No  one  wants  you  to  paint  like  Boucher  !  I  hate  his 
pictures,  I  never  look  at  them.  I  want  you  to  be  like 
yourself.  Show  this  Antigone  to  David  ;  see  what  he  says — 
to  please  me,  Jacques  !  You  have  never  done  anything 
approaching  licr.  Do  you  hear  me  1  What  does  it  matter 
if  she  be  but  a  portrait  1  After  all  you  have  rendered  what 
you  sav/  with  wonderful  energy  and  truth.  I  am  tired  of 
these  cla'!;s:c  subjects,  all  just  alike,  and  reminding  one  of 
statues  instead  of  human  beings.  It  is  clear  that  you  should 
not  waste  time  on  what  you  do  badly  when  there  are  things 
which  you  can  do  so  v/ell.' 

'  It  seems  like  lowering  art,  and  rather  than  do  that  I 
would  break  my  brush.' 

*  I  do  not  think  so ;  is  there  no  poetry  in  everyday 
things  1 '  answered  the  gii-1,  eagerly,  all  unconscious  that  she 
was  urging  the  doctrines  of  a  school  one  day  to  overthrovN^  all 
which  David  had  taught.  '  If  I  painted  figuies  and  land- 
scape instead  of  tlowcrs,  what  a  pretty  pictxire  I  could  make 
of  a  very  common  sight — the  Feast  of  the  Rogations.  I 
would  just  put  what  I  have  seen  at  St.  Aignan,  the  stream 
and  the  trees  for  a  background,  and  the  procession  coming 
with  our  cure,  and  the  sceurs,  and  the  notables  of  the  village, 
while  the  women  and  c;irls  should  be  round  the  altar  which 
they  have  built.  Ah,  how  pretty  we  made  our  altar  !  It 
was  only  a  table  from  some  cottage  near,  covered  with  a 
white  sheet,  and  candlesticks  and  flowers,  but  it  looked  so 
fresh,  so  pui*e  in  the  open  air,  v/ith  a  bower  of  green  branches 
over  it ;  and  how  pleasant  it  was  to  go  out  and  gather  all  the 
wild  flowers  we  coald  for  it !  I  do  so  miss  the  Jetrs  /'  she 
ended,  sighing,  for  even  leaving  out  of  the  question  the 
deep  want  which  the  banishment  of  all  signs  of  religion  left 


270  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

in  inward  life,  the  absence  of  all  the  pomp  and  ceremony 
•which,  varied  the  Christian  year,  and  satistiod  the  cra\dng 
for  something  less  monotonous  and  sordid  than  daily  life, 
caused  a  vast  blank,  especially  to  women. 

*  I  should  like  to  paint  that  now  ! '  said  Balmat,  with  a 
generous  feeling  of  taking  the  vanquished  side  ;  '  but  I  suppose 
no  one  would  dare  to  so  much  as  look  at  it.' 

'  But  do  leave  your  Lives  of  Plutarch  and  Ossian,  and 
paint  as  I  tell  you  ! '  m-ged  Edmee. 

'  Perhaps  you  are  right ;  I  will  thiak  about  it,'  he 
answered  ;  but  Edmee  did  not  in  the  least  guess  Avith  what 
an  effort  he  admitted  the  thought  that  perhaps  it  would  be 
his  duty  to  renonnce  the  dreams  of  paiuliug  great  classic 
subjects,  such  as  he  believed  true  art  dictated,  for  the 
humble  walk  which  Edmee  vu'ged.  For  the  moment  it  was 
as  if  she  had  taken  away  his  brush,  and  bade  him  paint  no  more. 

'  You  read  between  whiles  % '  said  Mademoiselle  do  St. 
Aignan,  taking  up  a  little  brown  book,  which  he  had  laid 
aside,  on  a  chair.     '  Why  .  .  .  it  is  a  Bible  ! ' 

She  looked  at  him  with  as  much  astonishment  as  if  it  had 
been  the  Koran. 

*  Yes,  I  read  it  every  day,'  he  answered  simply. 

*  You  have  read  it  daily  in  these  times  ? '  exclaimed  Edmee, 
with  a  different  but  even  greater  astonishment. 

'  Certaiuly ;  we  always  read  a  chapter  or  two  at  home, 
and  my  mother  go.ve  me  this,  her  own  co]">y ;  you  see  it  is 
old.  She  had  it  from  her  mother,  and  told  me  never  to  miss 
doiug  so.  I  know  tliey  always  tliink  of  me,  and  pray  for  mo 
after  the  reading.' 

'  But  if  anyone  knew  of  it,  you  would  have  been — might 
still  be — guillotiued  as  a  "  fanatic  "  ! ' 

'Well,  you  yovu-self;  have  yon  not  risked  as  much  in. 
wearing  your  cross  ? ' 

*  The  gold  cross  which  marraiuc  gave  me  ?  Of  course  I 
have  worn  it.' 

*  Silly  child  !  I  never  guessed  it,  or  I  should  never  have 
permitted  such  rashness,'  said  MademoLsei]e  de  St.  Aignan. 

Edmee  smiled  a  little  v.d!ful  smile,  and  put  her  hand  up 
to  her  bodice  where  the  cross  was  hidden. 


BALM  A  T  m  HIS  STUDl  0.  271 

*  And  of  course  I  have  read  my  Bible — my  Father's 
message  to  me.  Besides,'  continued  Balmat,  his  face  lighting 
up,  '  if  one  wants  poetical  subjects,  here  they  are  ...  as  I 
said  to  them  yesterday  in  the  atelier,  what  ever  came  up  to 
the  description  of  Christ  sitting  luider  the  little  alcove  by  the 
well,  looking  over  the  corn-fields  under  the  Eastern  skyi  or 
with  the  little  children  gathering  roiuid  his  knees  1 ' 

'  As  you  said  in  the  atelier  ! '  exclaimed  Edmee,  amazed 
beyond  expression,  for  not  only  was  it  dangerous  in  the 
highest  degree  to  make  an  open  profession  of  f;aith  at  this 
time,  but  it  requii-ed  such  coui-age  as  she  could  hardly  imagine 
to  have  made  it  in  such  a  company. 

*  Yes,  they  Avere  discussing  Ossian  and  "VVerther,  and 
Maurice  Quai  declared  Ossian  was  gi-eater  than  Homer,  and 
somehow  they  got  to  speaking  of  Italian  religious  pictures, 
and  then  of  the  Bible,  and  if  any  one  of  them  ever  read  it,  it 
was  in  some  absm-d  abridgment^but  I  do  not  think  they  had.* 

'  And  then  1 '  asked  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  won- 
dering at  the  unconscious  heroism  of  the  quiet  Balmat. 

'  Oh,  they  are  good  felloA\^s,  after  all  .  .  .  they  said  nothing 
at  all  for  a  moment,  and  then  one  and  another  came  and 
shook  hands  with  me.'  . 

'  Wo  are  interrupting  you  too  long,'  said  Edmee  ;  '  but 
remember  what  I  have  said.' 

'  There  is  no  fear  of  my  forgetting  !  But  you  do  not 
interrupt  me ;  Isnard  was  coming  to  sit  for  the  hands. 
By-the-by,  you  had  better  go  before  he  arrlvea.' 

*  Why  1     Do  you  mistrust  him  1 ' 

*  Xot  exactly ;  but  a  man  so  vain  is  never  to  be  trusted. 
One  does  not  know  what  he  may  be  led  to  do.  I  do  not 
want  to  speak  against  him,  for  it  is  kind  to  let  me  paint  his 
hands,  since  it  saves  me  a  model.' 

'Ah  !  but  I  have  noticed  he  is  vain  of  his  hands;  I  dare 
say  he  likes  to  have  them  copied.' 

'  Then  he  is  often  gratified,  for  we  all  use  his  arms  and 
hands  in  the  atelier.  Those  of  us  who  are  best  formed  often 
pose  for  the  others,'  he  explained  to  jMademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  '  but  lie  does  not  often  come  now  ;  he  has  gone  over 
to  Gu6rin,  otherwise  he  would  know  where  you  live,  which 


2TZ  KODLESSE  OBLIGE. 

is  a  mysteiy  to  him.  He  came  yesterday  to  me,  and  said  he 
had  been  to  the  Maison  Crocq,  but  you  had  left  it  ;  there  was 
a  letter  which  he  wanted  to  give  you,  and  he  left  it  in  my 
charge  ;  I  meant  to  have  brought  it  to-night.' 

'  A  letter  !  how  did  he  get  it  %  Why,  it  was  sent  to  Mor- 
temaii; .  .  .from  whom  can  it  bel  Ah,  my  cousin,  the  o'd 
canon ;  he  escaped  to  England  !  Then  I  have  still  some  of 
my  family  left !'  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  much 
moved,  and  while  she  read  her  letter  Balmat  told  Edmee 
unheard  that  Isnard  had  vowed  revenge  on  De  Pelven,  who 
was  now  agaia  in  Paris,  and  had  succeeded  in  getting  a  room 
adjoining  that  which  De  Pelven  now  inhabited,  and  kept 
incessant  Avatch  on  his  proceedings. 

'  But  it  is  all  so  childish  ! '  said  Balmat,  impatiently.  *  I 
do  not  know  how  much  of  earnest  there  is  in  it ;  he  has  taken 
so  many  into  his  confidence  as  to  the  revenge  he  means  some 
day  to  have,  that  really  he  will  be  driven  to  do  something,  for 
fear  of  becoming  a  jest  with  them  ;  he  has  managed  a  spy- 
hole, through  v/hich  he  can  see  all  that  De  Pelven  does,  un- 
suspected, and  this  gives  him  extraordinary  pleasure,  though 
he  never  learns  anything  important.' 

'  Bvit  how  did  he  get  this  letter  % ' 

*  Hov/  De  Pelven  got  it,  I  do  not  know,  unless  he  has 
been  at  Mortemart,  but  I  suspect  that  Isnard  actually  went 
into  his  room,  and  looked  about  for  papers  which  might 
compromise  him  .  .  .  found  none,  and  took  this  to  annoy  him.' 

'  Good  heavens  ! '  interrupted  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
*  to  think  of  the  dear  old  man's  writing  only  to  ask  this  ! 
Does  he  not  knovr  that  to  i-eceive  a  letter  from  an  emigre  is 
the  most  dangerous  thing  possible  1  Imagine  that  he  writes 
to  implore  me  to  seek  after  his  pedigree,  v/hich  he  had  had 
di^awn  out,  and  entrusted  to  a  friend  at  the  time  of  his  flight ! 
But  he  gives  me  one  piece  of  important  news ;  Alain,  my 
nephew,  is  in  Ita^y,  probably  with  Mesdames  Adelaide  and 
Victoii-e.  He  has,  as  we  supposed,  beguji  to  study  painting, 
or  rather  to  puisue  it,  for  I  believe  he  had  already  made  con- 
siderable progress  some  years  ago.' 

'  In  Italy  !  It  must  then  be  possible  to  have  fui-ther  news. 
Come,  dear  aunt,  we  must  go.' 


M.  DELYS  MAKES  A  JOURNEY.  273 

They  had  to  walk  a  little  way  to  the  fiacre,  waiting  for 
them  tinder  an  ai-chway ;  it  would  have  attracted  too  much 
attention  to  have  had  it  drawn  up  near  the  chui-ch.  When 
Balmat  had  put  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  into  it,  making 
no  reply  to  her  desire  that  he  would  brmg  Isnard  to  her  salon, 
and  discover  how  he  had  got  the  letter,  he  said  aside  to  Edmee, 
*  It  is  well  that  letter  is  out  of  De  Pelven's  hands.  It  might 
have  been  a  dangerous  weapon.  But  I  think  Isnard  had 
better  know  nothing .  .  .  and  change  his  lodging  as  soon  as 
he  can ! ' 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

M.  DELYS    MAKES    A   JOURNEY. 


It  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
and  M.  Delys  to  secure  an  uninteniipted  tHe-d,-tete.  She 
knew  his  dislike  of  being  interrupted  at  his  woi-k  too  well  to 
invade  his  atelier,  and  even  if  she  had  done  so  they  could  not 
have  conversed  without  attracting  the  attention  of  Edm^e, 
while  again  of  an  evening  the  salon  was  never  empty.  How- 
ever, they  had  agreed  on  a  private  signal  Avliich  should  give 
notice  when  there  was  any  weighty  matter  to  be  privately 
discussed,  for  both  had  plots  and  plajis  tor  Edmee's  benefit, 
though  they  took  difierent  views  of  what  was  dcsii'able. 
These  could  not  be  tUscussed  before  her,  and,  having  received 
the  given  signnl  one  morning,  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
was  not  surprised  to  sec  M.  Delys  appear  during  what  were 
ordinarily  his  working  hoin-s.  He  had  evidently  something 
important  to  say,  but  his  first  words  surprised  her,  for  they 
seemed  entirely  remote  fi'om  the  subject  which  she  anticipated. 
'  JNIademoiselle,'  he  began,  bowing  ceremoniously,  and  wait- 
ing as  he  always  did  for  her  permission  to  take  a  chair,  for 
though  most  people  seem  scarcely  themselves  when  removed 
from  their  familiar  surrouncUngs,  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
was  always  in  his  eyes  "  Grande  dame,"  as  in  former  days — 
'  Mademoiselle,  I  am  gettuig  an  old  man,  and  I  have  this  day 


274  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

heard  of  the  death  of  two  acquaintanceg,   one   older,   one 
younger  than  myself.     I  may  soon  follow  them.' 

*  My  dear  friend  !  why  afflict  yourself  with  such  gloomy 
thoughts  ! ' 

'  They  are  not  gloomy,  dear  mademoiselle.  When  my 
time  comes  I  hope  to  fall  gently  as  the  Avithered  leaves  do, 
without  a  storm.  But  it  has  made  me  think  of  our  child. 
She  will  no  doubt  be  able  to  support  herself  by  painting,  but 
her  health  might  fail,  or  a  time  might  come  when  she  had  no 
heart  to  paint,  could  do  no  tiling  worth  producing  ;  such 
times  come  in  one's  life,'  he  added,  rather  sadly,  recalling  past 
passages  of  his  own  history,  and  without  perceiving  the  en- 
qumng  and  incredulous  expression  on  the  countenance  of 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  to  whom  painting  seemed  the  mere 
copying  of  a  material  fact,  so  that  the  mechanical  skill  once 
acquired,  there  could  be  no  difficulty  in  producmg  any  quan- 
tity of  work,  at  all  times  and  seasons.  '  Of  course  I  shall 
leave  her  all  I  have,'  he  went  on, '  she  is  my  daughter,  you  know. 
I  never  thought  to  have  anything  so  like  a  child  of  my  own.' 

*  But  .  .  .  you  have  spoken  sometimes  of  a  daughter  1 ' 
said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  had  been  often  puzzled 
how  to  reconcile  this  with  what  she  knew  of  his  early  life. 

*  Yes,  I  dare  say  I  have,  but  I  never  had  one.  Mine 
has  been  what  I  suppose  people  call  a  solitary  life;  my 
parents  died  years  ago,  years  ago — ;  I  never  married  or  wished 
to  many  ;  a  wife  is  not  in  my  line,  but  I  have  often  thought 
it  would  have  been  gi-eat  happiness  to  have  possessed  a 
daughter  who  would  have  worked  with  me,  and  of  whom  I 
should  have  been  proud.  I  have  pictured  her  in  the  atelier 
until  I  really  sometimes  believed  she  was  there,  but  I  never 
found  a  name  for  her  to  my  liking  until  I  had  the  privilege  of 
knowing  madame  your  sister-in-law,  and  then  I  perceived  at 
once  that  hers  was  the  name  I  had  been  so  long  seeking. 
Yes,  I  have  seen  my  Edmee,  I  am  sui-e  of  it,  leaning  over 
me,  looking  at  my  work,  but  I  never  could  see  her  paint, 
nor  be  sure  that  she  had  spoken.  And  then  this  child  of  ours 
came,  and  I  never  see  the  other  now,  nor  miss  her.  My  heart  is 
filled  now — filled  now — there  is  no  room  for  the  other  Edmee.' 

He  spoke  in  a  dreamy  way,  looking  away  from  Mademoi- 


M.  DELY8  MAKES  A  JOURNEY.  275 

selle  de  St.  Aignan,  as  if  hard'y  aware  that  she  was  there, 
listening  with  much  marvel. 

*  These  artists  !  these  artists  ! '  she  was  saying  to  herself, 
with  some  sympathy  and  very  tender  amusement. 

'  But  I  do  not  know  why  I  am  saying  all  this,  mademoi- 
selle. Wliat  I  came  to  say  was,  first,  I  know  you  have  business 
talents,  and  as  it  is  for  that  dear  child's  sake,  I  venture  to 
ask  you  to  look  into  my  money  concerns ;  all  I  know  of  them 
you  will  find  put  down  in  this  little  book,  but  I  have  no 
time  or  head  for  that  sort  of  thing.' 

She  took  the  account-book  with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity, 
for  she  imagined  him  necessarily  a  rich  man,  from  the  frugal 
mode  of  life  which  he  had  always  followed,  and  the  sums, 
very  considerable  for  that  day,  which  were  paid  for  his  flower 
pieces.  She  had  often  heard  this  asserted,  ^vith  an  occasional 
hint  that  the  old  man's  chief  failing  was  avarice,  and  it  was 
with  great  sm-piise  that  she  now  discovered  how  moderate 
were  his  means,  though  amply  sufiicient  for  his  wants,  and 
even  for  those  of  the  two  new  members  of  his  family. 

'  I  daresay  I  am  called  a  miser,'  he  went  on,  as  if  replying 
to  what  was  in  her  mind,  *  because  I  do  not  give  to  what 
everyone  else  does.  '  Why  should  1 1  That  sort  of  ca  es 
takes  care  of  itself,  but  sometimes  people  come  whom  nobodv 
seems  to  he^p,  and  then  I  give — to  get  them  off"  my  mind, 
you  understand — to  get  them  off"  my  mind.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  imderstand,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
refi-aining  from  tormenting  him  as  usual,  for  she  was  a  little 
angiy  with  herself  for  having  given  credence  to  such  a  charge 
against  the  childlike  simple  old  man,  whose  large  and  kindly 
generosity  no  one  dreamed  of ;  and  to  whom  it  seemed  such 
a  matter  of  coiu-se  that  he  never  thought  about  it.  '  Like  our- 
selves, for  instance.  But  there  you  are,  I  know,  Avell  repaid 
by  your  pupil.' 

'  Mademoiselle,  had  I  needed  repayment,  as  you  call  it, 
I  should  have  had  it  abundantly  in  the  satisfaction  of  being 
of  service  to  you.  But  I  had  something  else  to  say.  This 
Leroux  is  dead  ? '  he  had  an  old  jea'ousy  of  Leroux,  for 
being  Edmee's  father,  and  therefore  as  it  were  his  own  rival 
• — '  certainly  dead  ?  He  must  have  left  money  which  should 
be  hers.     It  would  be  well  to  ascertain  this.' 


276  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  And  to  ascertain  where  the  title-deeds  of  the  lands  are. 
But  who  is  to  do  it  1 ' 

'  Just  so.' 

'  I  should  greatly  like  to  know  what  has  become  of  the 
chateau,  and  what  the  state  of  things  is  at  St.  Aignan,  if  Ave 
knew  of  anyone  who  could  make  enquii-ies  discreetly.' 

'  Perhaps  I  may  hear  of  someone,  or  somethmg  might 
take  me  there.' 

'  You,  dear  friend  !  If  you  ever  contrived  to  get  so  far, 
you  would  certainly  forget  the  way  back  ! '  said  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan,  who,  with  considerable  reason,  had  the  lowest 
possible  opinion  of  M.  Delys'  power  of  taking  care  of  him- 
self in  daily  life.  '  You  artists  see  a  great  deal  which  is 
hidden  from  ordinaiy  mortals,  and  nothing  of  all  which  they 
perceive  at  once.  By  the  way,  what  measuies  have  you 
taken  to  learn  anything  of  my  nephew  1 ' 

M.  Delys  had  not  much  answer  to  make  ;  he  felt  in  his 
guilty  soul  that  he  had  made  no  great  effox-t  to  ascertain  any- 
thing about  Alain,  and  the  conversation  ended,  nor  was  any- 
thing more  said  as  to  a  journey  to  St.  Aignan  for  a  consider- 
able time,  until  he  suddenly  announced  that  he  could  not 
complete  a  flower-piece  which  had  been  ordered  by  the  bride 
of  the  young  Geneial  Bonaparte,  befoie  she  joined  him  in 
North  Italy,  without  a  plant  for  which  he  had  no  study  in 
his  portfolios.  His  patroness  was  passionately  fond  of  flowers, 
a:r  1  took  a  great  and  intelligent  interest  in  the  commission 
which  she  had  given  him,  and  he  was  desii'ous  to  please  her, 
thoiigh  as  far  as  anyone  could  see  the  group  would  have  been 
quite  as  beautuul  without  this  particular  plant,  which  grew, 
as  he  declared,  only  near  St.  Aignan.  Edmee  offered  no 
opposition  to  his  journey,  though  perplexed  as  to  its  real 
object,  and  deeply  averse  to  any  renewal  of  a  connection  with 
her  old  home.  I\I.  Delys  was  delighted  at  having  found  a 
pretext  which  disguised  even  from  himself  that  he  was  going 
to  make  a  long  and  troublesome  joui-ney  for  a  benevolent 
purpose,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  some  malicious  comments 
which  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  could  not  altogether  le- 
frain  from  making,  and  set  off  to  find  his  p^ant,  and  see  how 
matters  had  gone  in  La  Bresse.     Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 


M.  DELY8  MAKES  A  JOURNEY.  277 

saw  him  go  with  but  moderate  satisfaction,  and  a  conviction 
that  if  she  coukl  but  have  gone  hei-self  matters  would  have 
been  much  better  managed,  in  which  perhaps  she  was  right, 
for  the  old  painter  had  none  of  her  ready-witted  acuteness  ; 
his  mind  was  generally  absorbed  by  his  art,  and  could  only 
perceive  such  facts  as  suited  it;  those  which  did  not  he 
ignored,  or  rather,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  they  did  not 
exist  as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  But  affection  for  Edmee 
gave  him  clear-sightedness  which  would  never  have  been 
roused  for  himself,  and  where  her  interests  were  concerned 
he  could  ]je  keen  and  cautious.  Tiavelling  was  still  difficult 
in  France,  though,  under  the  Directory,  there  weie  no  longer 
the  injiumerable  hindrances  of  a  short  time  back  placed  in 
the  way  of  procuring  passports  and  permits  of  residence,  the 
coche  d'eau  and  the  voiture  jniblique  had  not  yet  begun 
again  to  communicate  with  any  places  off  the  gi-eat  high  roads. 
During  the  last  ten  years,  while  the  corvees  gradually  fell  into 
disuse,  the  roads  had  been  falling  more  and  more  into  dis- 
repair, the  paved  way  in  the  middle  growiug  more  ruinous,  the 
mud  on  each  side  deej)er,  and  wheieas  locomotion  had  at  the 
best  been  difficult  and  even  dangerous,  in  some  places  it  was 
now  absolutely  imjwssible.  The  risk  of  highway  robbers, 
and  the  discomfoit  at  the  inns  added  to  tlie  reluctance  with 
which  a  journey  was  under-taken,  and  a  night  passed  in  a 
'  carosse  de  voiture,'  as  the  stage-coaches  wers  then  called, 
was  even  less  agi-eeable  than  one  spent  in  the  public  dor- 
mitory of  an  inn,  where  travellers,  landlord,  and  servants 
all  slept  together.  M.  Delys  was  a  timid  man,  and  such 
intercourse  as  this  with  his  fellow-crcatnres  was  horril)le  to 
him.  There  really  was  some  foimdation  for  IMademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan's  persuasion  that  if  he  ever  succeeded  in  finding 
his  way  to  his  destination  he  would  never  contrive  to  i-eturn, 
and  Edmee  grew  uneasy  about  him  as  the  limit  which  he 
had  fixed  for  his  absence  was  passed,  and  yet  no  news 
came  of  him.  That  he  should  wiite  no  one  expected.  To 
commit  anything  to  writing,  and  risk  its  l)eing  examined  by 
eyes  for  which  it  was  not  meant  was  still  universally  and 
carefully  avoided.  Edmee  worked  as  usual  in  the  atelier, 
where  no  one  disturbed  her,  and  now  that  summer  weather 


278  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Lad  come  there  was  no  pretext  for  someone  ti'om  a  neigli- 
boaring  studio  coming  into  beg  for  '  bi-aise  '  from  her  stove, 
and  M.  Delys  had  put  up  a  large  placard  on  his  door  with 
the  laconic  annoimcement  *  Absent ! '  which  prevented  any 
invasion  of  buyers  or  connoisseui'S.  Balmat  was  her  only 
visitor.  He  never  failed  to  come  daily  and  ask  if  he  could 
do  anj^hing  for  her,  and  refresh  himself  by  a  little  talk  of 
his  home,  and  his  longing  to  be  able  to  send  his  mother  a 
little  money.  Once  he  had  to  tell  her  how  he  had  received  a 
hamper  of  little  gifts,  long  delayed  on  the  road,  but  none  the 
less  welcome.  '  See,  my  mother  knitted  these  stockings  her- 
self ! '  he  said,  displaying  them  pi-oudly.  '  No  one  knits  as  she 
does  in  the  whole  A'illage  !  And  my  sisters  have  each  made 
me  something  ;  my  brother  has  sent  me  some  of  his  walnuts — 
here  they  are ;  Mademoiselle  your  aunt  likes  walnvits,  I 
know — As  for  father,  he  has  put  in  a  little  money — dear  old 
father  ! — If  I  could  only  send  him  help  instead  of  taking  what 
he  can  ill  spare  I  should  be  a  happy  fellow  !  Would  you  like 
to  see  my  mother's  letter  ] ' 

Edmee  read  it  with  gi-eat  sympathy.  '  Jacques,  you  ai'e 
a  fortunate  man  to  have  such  good  parents,*  she  said. 

*  Am  I  not  1  You  see  they  do  not  forget  me  ;  they  pi'ay 
for  me  every  night.  And  they  know  I  am  doing  my  best ; 
they  never  doubt  that,  though  I  have  nothing  to  show  for  it.' 

*  Jacques,  I  want  you  to  let  me  do  something.  You  know 
I  have  begun  to  earn  money  now ;  M.  Delys  said  my  last 
picture  was  worthy  of  being  sold ;  hitherto  he  has  only  let 
me  paint  to  learn  ;  I  had  so  much  to  learn  ! —  ' 

'  It  is  of  no  use  offering  me  money  ;  I  cannot  take  it. 
This  from  home  came  exactly  when  I  wanted  it,  and  luj  rent 
is  cleai'ed  off ;  I  can  pay  a  model^ — ' 

*  But  w^ait  till  I  ask  you  !- — I  was  not  going  to  offer  you 
money,  unless  in  a  way  you  cannot  dislike.  I  want  to  buy 
one  of  your  pictures.' 

'  That  is  only  another  way  of  doing  it.' 

*  Not  at  all.  I  really  want  it.  I  am  going  to  give  very 
little  for  it,  oh,  very  little,  M.  Balmat!  for  as  yet  you  are 
unknown,  but  I  must  make  haste,  for  some  day  yoiu*  pictures 
will  be  above  my  means —  ' 

*  "VV'Tien  I  am  dead,  perhaps  !  * 


M.  DELT8  MAKES  A  JOURNEY.  279 

'  Before  that,  I  hope  and  thiuk.  Then  I  shall  send  it  to 
your  mother,  and  tell  her  how  kind  and  true  a  friend  her  son 
has  been  to  me  and  my  aunt.  Do  you  not  think  it  will  please 
herr 

'  Yes,  dear  old  mother  !  I  cannot  refuse  such  goodness. 
And  they  will  not  know  it  is  nothing  very  grand.' 

'  I  do  hope,  Jacques,'  said  Edmee,  very  seriously,  '  that 
your  heart  is  in  what  you  paint  I  You  are  not  all  the  while 
regi-etting  it  is  not  a  classic  subject  which  you  have  in  hand  ]' 

'  No,  I  enjoy  my  painting,  or  I  would  not  do  it  at  all.  I 
did  as  you  advised,  after  thinking  it  well  over.  I  showed  my 
work  to  David.' 

'  And  he  1 '  asked  Edmee,  eagerly,  aware  how  gi-eatly 
Balmat's  peace  of  mind  depended  on  David's  opinion. 

'  He  said  I  had  overcome  much  of  my  difficulties  as  to 
coloiu",  and  that  the  lines  of  my  figiu*es  were  harmonious  and 
well  arranged,  but  I  could  see  he  thought  ai-t  lowered  by 
such  a  way  of  using  it.' 

*  What  you  draw  is  tiaie,  and  from  nature,  and  ai-t  rests 
on  natm-e  and  truth  !    Then  you  are  going  on  bravely  ] ' 

*  Yes.     I  think  it  is  the  best  that  is  in  me  to  do.' 

'  And  very  good  it  is  ! '  cried  Edmee.  '  Now  see  what  I 
am  doing ;  I  am  afraid  that  the  master  will  not  be  s;xtisfied 
with  these  roses.  Is  it  best  to  get  the  light  opaquely  ujx)n 
the  colours  or  transparently  through  them  1 '  And  then  they 
fell  into  discussing  methods  of  working,  and  the  manner  of 
producing  various  effects,  which  lasted  until  Edmee  dis- 
covered that  it  was  dinner  time,  and  prevailed,  with  some 
difficulty,  on  Balmat  to  stay  and  share  her  meal,  which 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  always  came  to  partake  of. 
Balmat  always  provoked  her  by  the  reluctance  with  which 
he  met  ler  invitations  ;  he  always  seemed  afraid  of  seeming 
to  have  timed  his  visits  expressly  to  be  asked  to  eat  and 
drink.  The  more  susceptible  he  was  on  this  point,  the  surer 
Edmee  felt  that  he  had  not  money  enough  to  afford  liimself 
proper  food. 

The  solitude  of  the  atelier  began  to  gTow  burdensome  as 
the  days  slipped  by,  and  she  listened  sometimes  a  little 
enviously  to  the  outbursts  of  song  and  laughter  from  the 


280  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

room  below,  where  David's  noisy  pupils  were  more  or  less 
busy.  She  wtis  very  glad  when,  on  coming  in  one  morning, 
she  saw  M.  Delys  again  instill  led  before  his  easel,  painting 
the  plant  which,  as  he  said,  he  had  gone  to  St.  Aignan 
to  find.  She  advanced  on  tiptoe.  '  Pan  !  Pan  ! '  said  she 
laughingly,  as  she  put  her  hands  over  his  eyes,  ami  he 
recollected  immediately  the  cliildLsh  game  common  in  that 
part  of  France,  and  kno%\'n  as  '  le  jeu  des  lieui's,'  and  duly 
replied  '  Who  is  there  1 ' 

'  It  is  I,'  answered  Edmee  gaily. 

*  Who  may  I  heV 

'  The  Archangel  Gabriel.' 

*  Wliat  does  he  want  1 ' 

'  Not  soucis^  at  all  events,'  she  answered,  inteniipting  the 
little  jest  suddenly.  '  Dear  master,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  ! 
What  news  do  you  bring?  What  have  you  seen  at  St. 
Aignan  1 ' 

*  Nothing  very  cheei-ful.  Eather  show  me  what  you  have 
done  in  my  absence ;  I  have  waited  for  you  before  I  ex- 
amined it ;  besides  I  had  to  set  to  work  to  paint  this  flower. 
See,  I  brought  it  in  wet  mosses ;  the  whole  plant,  only  look 
how  delicate  it  is  ;  it  ftides  like  a  novice  before  the  breath  of 
the  world.  How  it  surA'ived  what  we  went  through  I  know 
not.  The  c;irosse  was  bad  enough ;  eight  or  ten  people 
heaped  inside  a  thing  laden  with  baggage,  so  that  eight 
horses  could  hardy  drag  it  along,  and  at  such  close  quarters 
that  when  one  got  down,  one  had  to  ask  one's  neighbours  for 
one's  arms  and  legs,  and  then  I  thought  I  had  lost  my  purse, 
and  pjxssed  a  tenible  half-hour  in  consequence — never  found 
it  till  night,  when  I  discovered  it  in  my  boot ;  I  believe  I 
put  it  thei-e  ta,king  it  for  my  pocket.  Let  me  see  what  you 
have  been  doing.' 

He  rose  and  stood  before  the  canvas  on  her  easel,  looking 
alternately  at  the  half-finished  gi-oup  upon  it  and  the  fiowei'^ 
which  she  was  copying,  while  an  expression  of  pleased  content 
came  over  his  face,  very  pleasant  to  Edmee. 

'  Why,  this  is  good,  very  good/  he  said,  after  some  time 

*  Ma^'igolds,  OJ  cares. 


M.  BELTS  MAKES  A  JOURNEY.  281 

thus  spent.  *'  You  have  worked  hard  in  the  last  year,  very- 
hard.  This  is  equal  to  Madame  Val  layer  Coster,  though  she 
is  a  memljer  of  the  Academy ;  hut  ohserve,  these  rough  leaves 
require  quite  a  cUfferent  way  of  rendering  to  those.  Always 
fill  your  mind  with  the  character  of  a  p^ant  before  you  begin 
to  paint  it.  You  have  not  caught  the  poisonous,  false  aii'  of 
the  hellebore  ;  of  course  I  know  that  it  is  difficult  to  seize  the 
character  of  a  plant  so  opposite  to  your  own,  but  the  artist 
comprehends  things  most  opposed  to  his  nature  through  the 
imao-ination — the  imasination,  not  the  heart.' 

'  I  will  try,  dear  master,'  answered  Edmee,  smiling  at  the 
innocent  mysticism  of  the  old  painter,  and  aware  that  she 
must  wait  for  news  of  St.  Aignan  mitil  he  was  in  the  mood 
to  tell  them. 

'  Weigh  what  I  say,  my  dear  child,'  he  continued  ear- 
nestly. '  If  you  knew  the  world  as  I  do  '• — Edmee  thought 
how  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  would  have  laughed  to  her- 
self— '  you  would  discover  with  what  marve'loiLs  exactitude 
every  human  being  has  his  counterpart  in  the  vegetable 
kingdom.  You  may  say  that  I  should  hardly  find  a  parallel 
to  this  detestable  hellebore' — he  had  his  likes  and  disUkes 
among  plants  as  strong  or  stronger  than  any  which  he  felt  for 
men  and  women. 

'  Pardon  me,  dear  master,'  said  Edmee,  who,  when  they 
were  alone,  always  gave  idm  this  title  in  preference  to  that 
of  father.  She  could  feel  no  tenderness  for  a  name  associated 
with  Leroux.  In  destroying  for  her  the  meaning  of  father- 
hood he  had  done  her  a  cruel  injury,  for  like  that  of  some 
men  and  most  women  her  system  of  thought  was  uncon- 
sciously moulded  by  her  own  history.  '  Pardon  me,  I  myself 
know  someone  who  has  the  same  cold,  false  air  of  destruction, 
and  who  flourishes  where  better  plants  would  perish.' 

'  But  you  have  exactly  entered  into  my  meaning,  my 
child  !  There  is  nothing  like  a  woman  for  seizing  an  idea  at 
a  bound ;  a  man  would  have  hesitated  or  argued  for  an  hour 
before  comprehending  me.  I  said  that  very  thing  to  Maurice 
Quai,  who  calls  himself  a  thinker,  and  pushes  David's  theories 
beyond  what  David  himself  dreamed  of — would  destroy  all 
art  since  PhicUas,  without  exception, — a  man  who  iv^aily  has 


282  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

a  fine  mind,  and  yet  he  listened — listened  with  a  smile,  which 
expressed  nothing  unless  a  soi-t  of  pity.  Wlien  a  man  does 
not  apprehend  your  meaning  he  always  thinks  it  yoiu'  fault 
instead  of  his  own.     But  who  is  your  hellel  jore  ? ' 

*  M.  de  Pelven.' 

*  Ah  !  ah  !  yes,  you  are  perfectly  right  '  and  becoming 
suddenly  thoughtful,  he  re'urued  to  his  easel.  Presently  he 
said,  '  Well,  I  got  to  St.  Aignau.' 

'  And  how  has  all  fared  there  1 ' 

'  Alas !  my  child,  it  wrs^s  a  sad  journey.  The  last  time 
that  I  went  that  way  the  1  arvest  was  being  gathered  in,  the 
fields  full  of  fiowers  ;  now  one  would  suppose  that  war  had 
passed  over  them.  Ruined  houses,  chiu'ches  closed  or  de- 
secrated, wounded  men  dragsing  themselves  through  the  vil- 
lages .  .  .  And  yet  there  seemed  everywhere  an  inexplicable 
feeling  of  hope,  of  animation,  as  if  the  people  regarded  all  this 
misery  as  a  mere  passing  tril>uiation,  which  they  could  bear, 
because  it  delivered  them  from  an  intolerable  burden.  I 
cannot  explain  it ;  I  only  tell  you  the  impi-ession  I  received. 
In  a  village  where  the  coach  stopped  one  of  the  passengei-s 
cried,  "Vive  la  Eepub'ique !"  and  everyone  near  joined,  a 
wovmded  man  loudest  of  all,  come  home  minus  an  arm  and  a 
leg!' 

*  No  one  remembered  you  ] ' 

*  Of  course  not.  I  stopped  at  the  inn,  and  learned  there 
that — it  will  be  a  shock,  my  dear  child — yotir  father  is  dead.' 

Edmee  was  silent.  It  was,  a-s  he  had  expected,  a  shock,  all 
the  more  that  she  dared  not  look  too  closely  into  her  feelings. 

'  The  estates  have  been  parcelled  out,  and  partially  sold, 
but  it  seems  that  it  is  not  easy  to  get  pm-chasers,  as  at  first, 
especially  if  there  be  any  notion  that  title-deeds  may  be 
brought  out  by-and-by  by  an  old  owner.  Land  is  exti-aor- 
dinarily  cheap ;  a  field  for  a  sack  of  corn,  they  say.  There 
seems  to  have  been  no  one  to  keep  order  in  the  commune ; 
every  man's  cattle  browse  over  the  old  seigneurial  domain ; 
the  forests  are  cut  down — every  fai'mer  and  peasant  has  one 
way  or  another  got  a  bit  of  land,  and  wants  more,  if  he  only 
had  the  money.     If  the  enemy  wei-e  at  our  gates,  the  peasant 


M.  BELTS  MAKES  A  JOURNEY.  283 

would  buy — buy.     Things  can  never  now  go  back  to.  what 
they  were  formerly.' 

*  Has  the  chateau  itself  suffered  much  1 ' 

*  The  peasants  dance  in  the  hall  on  Sundays,  and  their 
sabots  have  broken  the  tiles  ;  you  can  see  too  traces  of  wanton 
destruction  ;  there  have  been  hatchets  and  pick-axes  used 
hej-e  and  there,  and  one  room  evidently  was  on  fire ;  the 
flames  have  licked  the  walls  and  ceiling.  I  need  not  say  that 
every  bit  of  furniture  has  been  carried  oflf.  I  saw  some  of  it 
at  the  inu.' 

*  Whom  did  you  see  1 ' 

*  I  had  my  tin  box  for  plants,  as  you  know,  and  everyone 
took  me  for  an  apothecary  looking  for  his  herbs.  Your  unc'e 
Grabian  came  out  of  the  mill,  and  asked  if  I  could  recommend 
anything  for  his  wife's  complaints ...  I  gathered  that  her 
temper  was  what  needed  ciu-ing  most.  We  had  a  good  deal 
of  talk ;  he  is  an  honest  man,  and  I  told  him  I  knew  you 
were  alive,  and  might  be  commimicated  with  by  a  letter  to 
the  Maison  Crocq — I  was  cautious,  you  see,  for  it  seems  some- 
one else  had  been  down  there,  making  eni|iiu.ies  before  me — 
he  went  away  disappouited  though.' 

'Not.  .  .M.  deSt.Aignanr 

*  No,  no,  child  ;  do  not  look  so  startled.' 
*DePelven,  then!' 

*  Exactly,  but  since  no  one  knew  anything,  he  could  learn 
nothing.  Evidently  he  thought  you  might  have  returned 
home,  scoundi'el  that  he  is  !  Grabian  told  me  that  his  brother- 
in-law,  Leroux,  died  fort  gras,  as  they  say  there,  and  being 
an  honest  man,  and  fond  of  you,  it  seems,  he  wishes  to  make 
over  all  these  savings ' 

*  I  want  none  of  it.     Who  knows  how ' 


*  Listen,  my  child ;  I  know  what  you  mean,  but  this 
money  is  justly  yoiu-s,  and  would  make  you  independent.  I 
have  little  to  leave ;  illness  might  interfere  with  your  own 
work,  and  it  is  not  well  to  look  to  art  as  a  means  of  gaining 
daily  bread,'  said  M.  Delys,  with  a  vindictive  recollection  of 
the  fans  and  bonhonieres.  '  If  you  should  leave  your  husband, 
you  would  accept  nothing  from  him  ] ' 

*  No  ;  again  you  may  never  see  him  more,  and  then  if 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  remain  with  you — ' 


284  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  Remain  !     "What  can  you  mean  1 ' 

'  Why,  yon  do  not  suppose  that  if  you  renounce  your,  hus- 
band he  will  leave  his  aunt  on  youi*  hands  1 ' 

'  I  never  thought  of  the  possibility  of  our  being  separated. 
Am  I  to  lose  everything  1 '  said  Edmee,  with  vehemence 
which  startled  M.  Delys.     '  No,  it  cannot,  shall  not  be  so.' 

'  You  must  not  take  it  ill,  my  dear  child,  that  I  have  ac- 
cepted your  uncle's  offers,  and  said  you  would  write  to  him.* 

*  I  must  consider,'  she  answered,  and  he  looked  at  her 
tenderly,  feeling  Avith  keen  and  vaiu  regret  how  lonely  this 
young  life  had  been,  and  was,  notwithstancUng  his  fond  affec- 
tion, as  he  saw  her  thinking,  with  bent  head,  and  hands 
folded  together.  Except  Balmat  she  had  never  had  anyone 
to  take  counsel  with. 

'  "Will  you  not  take  yoiu*  aunt's  advice  ] '  he  asked  at  last, 
very  gently. 

'  I  linow  exactly  what  she  would  say,'  answered  Edmee, 
faintly  smiling.  '  She  would  advise  anything,  no  matter 
what,  unless  it  w^ere  absolutely  dishonom-able,  which  she 
thought  could  add  to  my  happiness.'  And  she  added  to  her- 
self, '  What  a  help  it  must  be  to  have  someone  to  decide 
questions  for  one  !  '  After  another  pause  of  thought  she 
looked  up,  sajring,  '  I  consent.' 

'  ISTo  one  mth  common-sense  could  hesitate ! '  said  M. 
Delys,  as  decidedly  as  if  he  himself  always  acted  according  to 
its  dictates.  '  You  will  write  to  yom*  uncle ;  Balmat  will 
receive  the  letter  at  the  Maison  Crocq,  and  now  all  is  settled.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Edmee,  passing  her  hand  over  her  eyes  as  if 
to  efface  some  inward  vision. 

'  There  was  a  mairiage  going  on  in  the  villacje,'  said  M, 
Delys,  hoping  to  find  a.  more  agi'eeable  subject,  a  .girl  whom 
they  called  Mathurine  Berthier,  and  a  yoimg  fellow  whose 
name  has  escaped  me — ' 

'  Mathurine  Berthier  !  the  mayor's  daughter.' 

*  A  gi-and  affair,  I  assure  you  ;  guns  fired  off  on  all  sides, 
open  house  kept,  everybody  eating  hLs  fill  and  drinking  to 
match,  all  the  women  crazy  ^vith  envy  at  the  number  of  ors ' 
(ornaments)  '  worn  by  the  bride  ;  her  gold  chains  were  beyond 
coimting,  rings,  earrings — I  daresay  many  an  honest  man's 


M.  DELYS  MAKES  A  JOURNEY.  285 

fortune  had  been  melted  into  them — all  the  villagers  going 
and  coming — ' 

'  That  is  just  what  I  fancied  my  marriage  would  be,'  said 
Edmee,  with  a  smile  very  like  a  sigh,  and  then  she  shrank 
and  shivei'ed,  recalling  in  what  strange  circumstances  it  had 
really  taken  place  ;  the  terror,  the  fm-y,  the  shame,  and  the 
jests  that  overwhelmed  her,  and  then  the  long  night  walk  mider 
stars  dim  with  mist,  the  cold,  yet  kind  attention  of  her  young 
husband,  while  she  couJd  not  tind  a  word  of  answer,  and  then 
that  wild  temptation  to  fling  herself  into  the  stream  which 
they  crossed,  and  so  make  an  end  of  all  their  difficulties.  She 
even  seemed  to  perceive  the  keen  fragrance  of  the  herbs  on 
which  they  had  trodden.  Her  hand  closed  on  a  chain  of 
hah-  wliich  hung  around  her  neck,  to  which  was  suspended 
the  golden  cross  that  Balmat  had  spoken  of;  both  were  the 
gift  of  Madame  de  St.  Aignan.  '  Mathm-ine  cou.ld  only 
have  a  civil  marriage,'  she  said.     '  Or  would  it  be  possible — % ' 

'  To  find  a  priest  1  I  do  not  know.  The  bitter  feeling 
against  the  priests  is  extraordinary — the  peasants  have  got  it 
into  theii-  heads  that  the  Chiu'ch  joined  hands  with  the  nobles 
to  oppress  them,  and  you  know  how  such  a  notion  would 
spread  and  take  root.' 

'  My  poor  mother  !  I  have  never  been  able  to  have  a  mass 
said  for  her  soul — and  now  I  ought ' — Edmee  stopped  ;  she 
was  thinking  of  Leroux  *  I  could  do  that  for  him,'  she 
added,  as  if  relieved  to  find  there  were  any  filial  duty  possible 
to  her. 

M.  Delys  hemmed  and  made  no  answer.  It  was  with 
great  effort  that  Edmee  added — 

'  Did  you  hear  anything  of  a  man  called  Letumier  1 ' 

'  I  suppose  he  got  what  he  deserved,  but  it  is  a  horrible 
story.  In  the  day  of  victory  one  party  is  absolutely  no  better 
than  another.  In  the  first  confusion  alter  Eobespierre's  fall 
the  aristocrats  thought  their  tiu-n  was  come.  At  Lyons 
every  Jacobin  who  could  be  foimd  was  massacred — this 
Letumier  was  there  ;  he  was  either  thrown  into  the  Ehoneor 
perished  in  a  prison  which  was  set  on  fire  ...  in  fact  the 
blind  fury  of  revenge  was  such  that  it  seems  many  Royalists 
perished  among  the  Jacobins.      The  two  sons  of  the  Duke  of 


286  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Orleans  barely  escaped  massacre  at  Marseilles.  Alas  !  what 
can  we  say  about  the  deeds  of  the  Republicans  who  had  cen- 
tui-ies  of  wronsfs  to  avenare  after  this  ? ' 

Edmee  drooped  her  head.  She  had  no  answer  to  make. 
*  It  is  all  so  terrible  ! '  she  mm-mured.  '  But  tell  me  .  .  . 
many  emigres  have  returned,  we  know  that ;  would  it  not  be 
possible  to  have  the  name  of  M.  de  St.  Aignan  erased  from 
the  proscribed  list  1     Have  you  tried  ] ' 

'  I  dare  say  more  might  be  done .  .  .  we  will  see/  answered 
M.  Delys,  with  a  guilty  air,  '  now  let  me  paint,  my  child — we 
have  talked  enough.' 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

AN   ART    PATRON. 


*  What  have  you  there  1 '  asked  M.  Delys,  as  Edm^e 
placed   a   small   oil-painting   in   an   advantageous   position. 

*  Where  did  that  come  from  1 ' 

'  It  is  Balmat's.  I  asked  him  to  let  me  have  it.  I  was 
sure  that  you  would  allow  me  to  have  it  here,  where  someone 
may  see  it ;  so  many  people  come  to  your  studio.'  M. 
Delys  had  one  day  in  the  week  on  which  he  admitted  visitors 
to  liis  studio.  '  He  can  never  have  a  chance  of  selling  any  of  his 
pictui-es  otherwise.  Look — I  know  that  you  will  not  care  for 
it,  you  will  say  that  he  does  not  finish  highly  enough,  but 
see,  it  has  real  merit.' 

*  Yes,  yes,'  said  M.  Delys,  coming  to  examine  the  painting; 

*  there  is  good  quality  there,  honest  work,  the  vine-trails  on 
the  wall  are  carefully  done,  and  the  colour  of  the  leaves  in- 
dicates the  time  of  year  very  correctly,  but  I  do  not  care  for 
the  sort  of  thing ;  a  lovers'  quarrel— something  which  no 
doubt  he  saw  in  his  Swiss  village ;  the  lad  and  lass  have  met 
by  the  fomitain,  and  fallen  out,  and  that  is  all ! ' 

'  No,  indeed,  dear  master,  that  is  not  all,'  argued  Edmee, 
who,  though  sometimes  shaken  by  the  criticism  which  Ba' mat's 
pictures  always  met  with,  was  never  long  moved  from  her 


^.Y  AliT  PATRON.  287 

conviction  that  he  had  real  talent.  *  It  is  really  well  com- 
posed, and  a  little  tragi-comedy.  See,  the  yovmg  man  holds 
his  pipe  disconsolately,  and  sits  awkward  on  the  bench ;  he 
would  make  it  np  if  he  could,  but  is  too  clumsy  to  know  how, 
while  the  gud  stands,  turning  away,  alei-t  and  angry,  more 
with  his  awkwardness  than  becaixse  she  was  really  vexed  at 
first ;  she  feels  it  so  stupid  of  him  not  to  speak  and  set  all 
right.  See  how  well  her  green  jar  is  painted,  and  the  clear 
water  flowing  through  the  hollow  tree-trunk — then  the  brown 
old  chalet,  and  bit  of  wall.     It  is  very  good,  mon  mmtre  ! ' 

While  Edmee  spoke  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and, 
though  it  was  not  the  day  on  which  visitors  were  admitted, 
a  stranger  entered,  on  whose  face  the  patronising  customer 
was  so  plainly  written  that  M.  Delys  muttered,  '  He  comes  in 
as  if  I  kept  a  shop,  and  he  had  only  to  order  so  many  yards 
of  cloth  !     Sir,  to  what  do  I  owe  the  honour  of  this  visit  ? ' 

'  Monsieur,  I  have  lately  bought  the  Hotel  de  Blanquefort. 
...  I  am  Guillaume  Jobiu,  of  whom  you  may  have  heard, 
Jobin  and  Co.  are  known  as  well  or  better  than  most  ci-devanfs,' 
said  the  visitor,  in  a  tone  which  implied  serene  assiu'ance  that 
he  had  but  to  name  himself  to  be  respectful 'y  recognised. 

'  No,  monsieur,  I  have  not  that  advantage,'  answered 
M.  Delys,  and  Edmee  could  hardly  suppress  a  smile  at  the 
effort  which  it  cost  him  to  utter  even  these  words.  A  glance 
had  told  her  that  the  citoyen  Jobin  was  precisely  what  the 
old  artist  most  dis'iked,  a  rich  and  consequential  bourgeois. 
She  knew  perfectly  that  the  very  way  in  which  their  visitor 
was  looking  round  the  atelier  was  intolerable  to  M.  Delys, 
who  muttered  between  his  teeth, '  Nouveau  riche  !  would  one 
not  say  that  he  was  appraising  every  article  of  furniture  I  I 
have  been  in  the  Hotel  B'anquefort,  monsieur,  and  had  the 
happiness  of  knowing  its  former  owner.' 

'  Ah,  ah,  its  former  owners  ^vill  find  it  the  Hotel  Jobin 
when  they  return,  ...  or  rather  if  they  return.' 

'And  why  if,  may  I  ask,  monsieur?  emigres  return  every 
day  now.' 

'  That  depends  on  whether  they  can  get  their  names 
rayea,  my  good  sir.  If  anyone  of  weight  think  it  better  for 
the  nation  that  they  should  stay  away  a  little  longer,  why, 


288  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

the  chances  are  that  they  do  not  find  it  altogether  easy  to 
gain  permission.  But  that  does  not  concern  me.  I  bought 
the  hotel  as  bien  cVemigre,  and  I  keep  it.  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you  there,  monsieur,  and  have  your  advice 
about  my  pictiu-es.  It  seems  that  there  iised  to  be  a  gallery 
of  paintings  there,  and  people  have  persuaded  my  wife  and 
daughter  that  the  walls  look  bare  without  them.  I  myse'f  do 
not  care ;  some  pictm-es  are  pretty  enough  to  look  at,  but 
bah  !  what  good  does  your  painting  and  yoiu'  music  and  what 
people  call  art  do  anyone,  I  ask  you?  We  are  none  the 
warmer,  or  the  better  governed,  or  the  richer  for  that  kind 
of  thiag ;  we  sleep  none  the  sounder,  nor  live  the  longer  for 
it,  but  I  want  the  Hotel  to  look  as  it  used  ;  my  wife  desires  it, 
and  my  daughter  too, — women  have  their  fancies,  and  I  am 
willing  to  let  them  have  their  way,  even  if  it  cost  something,' 
said  M.  Jobiti,  slapping  his  hand  on  his  pocket,  with  a  laugh 
which  made  M.  Delys,  already  exasperated  by  the  doctrines 
poured  into  his  ears  shrink  up  Avith  disgust,  and  ask  without 
turning  to  look  at  him,  *  Monsieur,  I  still  have  to  learn  how 
I  can  serve  you  ?  ' 

'  Why,  I  want  one  of  your  paintings,  to  be  siu-e  !  Pinard 
sent  me  here,  he  says  they  are  the  best  that  can  be  had,  and 
when  I  buy  a  thing  I  like  it  of  good  quaUty ;  it  answers  in 
the  end,  and  if  one  should  wish  to  sell  it,  one  gets  one's 
money  back.' 

*  Piiiard  sent  you  ! '  gi'owled  ]M.  Delys,  in  a  voice  which 
boded  ill  for  the  delinquent  picture-dealer. 

'  Yes,  that  is,  he  said  your  work  was  the  best  he  knew, 
so  I  have  come  to  see  for  myself.' 

'  Did  he  not  mention  that  visitors  are  only  admitted  to 
my  atelier  on  Decarli  1 ' 

*  I  believe  he  did,  but  I  had  no  time  to  lose,  and  I  never 
trust  anyone  to  do  what  I  can  do  for  myself.  That  is  the 
maxim  which  has  made  me  a  rich  man,  monsieur.  So  here  I 
am,  but  there  does  not  seem  much  to  see,'  added  M.  Jobin, 
looking  roimd  ^dth  some  doubt  and  disappointment.  '  You 
do  not  keep  specimens  hanging  up  then  ?  I  thought  I  should 
see  a  number  of  your  works  hanging  up,  and  take  my  choice. 
I  know  nothing  of  art,  I  have  had  more  important  things  to 


AN  ART  PATRON.  289 

think  of,  l3ut  I  know  what  I  like — one  does  not  need 
much  teaching  to  understand  that,  and  since  I  pay  I  have  a 
right  to  have  it.  So,  my  dear  monsieiu-,  when  you  set  about 
a  painting  for  me ' 

'  Excuse  me,  monsieur,  my  time  is  fully  occupied,  I  am 
already  beset  with  more  commissions  than  I  know  how  to 
execute.  Imbrcil'^,  va !  even  when  I  was  pooi'est  I  wou^d 
have  broken  my  brush  sooner  than  paint  for  thee ! '  mut- 
tered the  old  man,  his  very  eyebrows  bristling  with  wi-ath. 

'  But  monsieur ' 

*  My  time  is  promised,  monsieur,  promised  ! ' 

'  But  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  have  one  of  your 
flower  pieces,  since  Pinard  tells  me ' 

*  Pinard  is  a  fool  !  he  knows  perfectly  v/ell  that  if  I  had 
as  many  hands  as  Briareus  I  could  not  get  through  what  I 
have  to  do  in  the  next  three  years  ! ' 

'  But  you  must  have  something  done,  or  which  could  be 
painted  in  a  week  or  two,  monsieur  ! ' 

'  A  week  or  tv/o  ! '  repeated  M.  Delys.  '  "  Je  dis  qu'il 
est  un  sot,  mais  c'est  lui  qui  le  prouve  !  "  ' 

*  Monsieur  probably  does  not  know  how  long  such  a 
painting  as  he  desii-es  takes  to  execute,'  interposed  Edmeo, 
aTixious  to  stifle  the  quotation,  which  she  had  recognised  at 
the  first  words.  '  See,  this  leaf  would  take  my  father  a 
day.' 

'  Ma  foi  !  if  that  is  necessary  your  painting  may  well  be 
dear  !  It  is  true  that  your  time  is  not  so  valuable  as  that 
of  a  business  man.  What  a  singular  way  of  spending  one's 
life,  to  daub  colours  on  a  piece  of  canvas !  and  all  to  copy 
things  which  we  can  see  anywhere  without  ]iaying  for  them  ! 
It  seems  droll  when  one  thinks  of  it.  But,  mademoiselle — ' 
he  had  hitherto  paid  no  attention  to  Edraee — '  Since  you  aro 
monsieur's  daughter  your  name  is  also  Lafleur !  Then  a 
picture  of  yours  would  be  equally  valuable,  since  it  would 
have  the  same  signature.  All  I  want  is  to  have  something 
signed  Lalleur  in  ray  gallery.' 

'  I  am  afraid,  monsieur,  that  connoisncui's  Avould  soon  dis- 
cover the  difierencc  })otweeu  my  father's  jtictures  and  mine, 
and  besides  I  am   fully  occupied,'  said    Edme(;,  with  great 


290  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

difficulty  suppressing  her  amusement  at  this  view  of  the 
matter,  all  tlie  more  tliat  she  heard  a.  succession  of  angry 
snorts  from  M.  Delys,  as  he  sat  with  his  back  turned  to 
them.  '  But  here  is  a  painting  by  an  artist  full  of  promise,' 
and  she  rose  to  point  out  and  ex])]ain  the  picture  of  Balmat. 

*  It  Ls  not  then  done  by  either  of  you,'  said  citoyen  Jobin, 
on  which  a  still  angrier  grunt  escaped  M.  Delys,  who  was 
making  believe  to  be  engrossed  in  his  work,  but  in  reality  far 
too  much  perturbed  to  attempt  a  stroke. 

*  No,  monsieur,  we  only  paint  flowers,  but  see  how  well 
this  is  done  ;  does  it  not  recall  some  of  Chardin's  scenes,  or 
Greuzel  You  miderstand  the  story  of  it,  I  am  sure,'  and 
the  charming  gface  with  which  she  explained  the  motif  of 
the  picture  mollified  even  M.  Delys,  and  made  the  would-be 
patron  listen  "svith  interest.  She  thought  that  she  had 
secured  him  as  a  purchaser,  vmtil  he  so  id,  '  After  all  it 
seems  that  this  young  man  is  unknown ;  how  is  one  to  be 
sui'e  that  his  works  are  worth  anything  1 ' 

'  Ask  M.  Pinard,  anyone,  monsieur !  You  Avill  have 
had  the  honour  of  discovering  merit.  Besides,  you  like  this, 
and  you  said  yourself  that  was  the  time  test.' 

'  Ma  foi!  yes,  but  still  one  does  not  like  to  ri.sk  anything. 
If  one  had  ever  heard  his  name.  .  .  .  Then  you  will  not  paint 
anything  for  me,  monsieiu*  % ' 

'  No,  monsieur,'  answered  M.  Delys,  curtly. 

*  Monsiem-,  who  is  a  business  man,  would  not  wish  us  to 
enter  on  engagements  which  we  could  not  meet,'  said  Edmee. 
'  We  artists  have  also  our  honour.' 

'  Upon  my  word,  mademoiselle,  you  speak  well  !  Do  you 
know,  dear  monsieur,  you  have  a  charming  daughter  ? 
Well,  I  must  try  elsewhere.  Your  servant,  mademoi- 
selle,' and  so  he  bowed  liimself  out,  and  had  scarcely  closed 
the  door  when  M.  Delys  flung  his  brush  from  him  in  a  trans- 
port of  indignation,  and  starting  up  stamped  about  the 
atelier,  clutching  his  wig  in  one  hand,  and  making  threaten- 
ing gestures  with  the  other.  '  Animal !  imbecile  !  does  he 
think  I  will  profane  my  brush  to  do  a  stroke  for  him,  or 
thine  either  1  Dolt  of  a  Pinard,  what  right  had  he  to  name 
me  to  such  a  fellow  as  this  ?  what  art  thou  laughing  at  ? '  he 


AN  ART  PATRON.  291 

exc''aimecl,  stojiping  sudden''y  before  Edmee,  and  regaixling 
hex-  fiercely.  '  Wliat,  because  I  am  au  artist  is  it  allovred  to 
every  idiot  with  money  in  his  purse  to  enter  my  atelier, 
waste  my  time,  weary  my  ears  with  his  senseless  talk,  and 
presume  to  patronise  me  I  A  vulgar  follow  who  would  think 
a  map  and  a  landscape  all  the  same,  who  considers  art  a  toy 
fit  perhaps  for  silly  women !  .  .  .  You  are  laughing  still ! ' 

'  Dear  master,  whose  fxult  is  that  1  But  you  were 
terribly  rude,  do  you  know  1 ' 

'  I  am  glad  of  it,  I  am  glad  of  it ! '  and  then,  beginning 
to  calm  down,  he  rep'aced  his  wig,  and  said,  'After 
all  it  is  I  who  am  a  fool  to  let  such  a  poor  creature 
distvu-b  me,  but  he  must  have  been  very  insupportable,  since 
he  could  thus  annoy  a  calm,  moderate  man  like  me' — 
Edmee's  smi^e  was  wicked,  but  he  did  not  detect  it — '  the 
worst  of  it  is  that  he  has  so  tried  my  nerves  that  my  morn- 
ing is  lost.     It  is  viseless  to  try  to  paint,' 

*  I  wish  he  would  have  bought  poor  Balmat's  picture/ 
said  Edmee,  i-egretfully. 

'  Child,  if  you  believe  that  sketch  to  have  any  Jiierit, 
rejoice  that  it  has  not  fallen  into  such  hands  ! ' 

'  Ah,  but  worthier  eyes  Vv^ouid  have  seen  it  in  his  gallery, 
and  Balmat  would  have  been  so  thankful  for  the  money  !  It 
seems  very  difiicult  to  begin  to  sell  one's  pictures,  unless  in- 
deed one  be  as  fortunate  as  I ;  mine  are  accepted  at  once,  as 
yom-  pupil's.' 

'  On  their  own  merits,  too,  dear  child,'  interrvipted  M. 
Delys,  who  was  as  jealous  for  her  reputation  as  for  his  own. 
'  But  it  is  hard,  very  hard,  to  make  a  beginning.  I  ought  to 
know  it,  for  it  was  years  before  I  sold  one.  Other  artists 
had  friends,  got  a  commission  from  (Government — no  luck 
came  my  way.  I  had  to  live  on  a  crust,  but  I  had  no  family 
and  wanted  little ;  I  could  do  it,  and  I  did.  Poor  Balmat  ! 
he  is  only  at  the  beginning  of  his  difliculties.' 

'  I  tell  him  to  remember  that  David  tried  five  times  for 
the  Grand  Prix  <]e  Pome.' 

'  He  makes  progress,  he  certainly  does  ;  he  is  no  longer  a 
rapin.  No,'  said  M.  Delys,  using  the  familiar  word  a])p!icd 
not  only  to  new  comers  in  a  studio,  but  to  those  who  after  a 


292  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

time  give  little  promise  of  ultimate  success.  *  How  the  poor 
lad  must  have  worked  !  It  is  not  what  I  like — no,  but 
there  is  great  merit.' 

'  Ah  !  you  own  it  now,  dear  mnster  ! '  cried  Edmee,  trium- 
phantly. '  That  M.  Jobiu  would  have  done  well  to  take  it, 
would  he  not  1 '  Then,  with  an  effort,  '  Did  you  observe 
what  he  said  about  the  former  owners  of  the  Hotsl  de 
Blanquefort  'I  their  return  "? ' 

'  That  was  one  of  the  very  things  which  made  me  disUke 
the  fellow.  The  old  o^\^lers  were  true  aristocrats ;  I  like  a 
I'cal  aristocrat — always  did.' 

'■  It  seems  that  retm-ning  or  not  returning  is  a  matter  of 
favour?' 

'  So  it  would  appear.' 

'  And  if  anyone  find  it  his  interest  to  prevent  an  emigre's 
return,  it  can  be  effectually  hindered.' 

'  Yes,  that  complicates  matters,'  said  M.  Delys,  under- 
standing Yv'ith  the  quickness  of  affection  whither  her  thoughts 
were  tending. 

*  But,  after  all  .  .  .  it  seems  such  vanity  to  suppose  M. 
de  Pelven  remembers  me,'  murmured  Edmee,  blushing 
crimson,  as  she  alluded  to  a  subject  v/hich  had  Mtherto  been 
only  tacitly  understood  between  them. 

'  He  remembers  .  .  .  Yes,  he  remembers,'  answered  the 
old  painter,  brusquely.  '  I  have  learned  all  I  coukl  about 
him — cautiously,  you  know,  cautiously;  and  it  seems  he 
never  lets  go  any  plot  or  plan.  He  is  quiet  enovigh  now  ; 
perhaps  he  finds  little  to  do  under  the  Directoiy,  or  is 
watching  the  times ;  but  he  is  a  dangerous  man.  It  seems 
that  that  silly  fellow  Isuard  presumed  to  act  spy  upon  him 
.  .  .  well,  he  has  disappeared.' 

*  Disappeared  ! ' 

*  Even  so ;  no  doubt  he  is  now  inside  some  prison,  or 
even  on  his  way  to  Cayenne,  with  the  last  batch  of 
depo7'tes.' 

'  Is  it  possible  that  Isnard  should  have  ever  thought  of 
measuring  himself  with  De  Pelven  ! ' 

'  You  have  had  no  answer  yet  from  the  unc^e  Grabian  1 ' 

*  No — it  will  come  soon  enough,'  answered  Edmee,  with 


AN  ART  PATRON.  293 

that  clouded  look  which  any  mention  of  her  old  life  always 
brought,  and  M.  Delys  took  up  his  larush,  and  said  no  more. 
It  seemed  however  as  if  what  he  had  said  had  conjured  up 
the  expected  letter  from  Edmee's  uncle,  for  a  few  days  after- 
wards it  arrived,  giving  such  information  as  enabled  her  to 
enter  on  possession  of  Leroux's  money.  But  of  the  title-deeds 
of  St.  Aignan  there  was  not  a  word.  Apparently  they  were 
not  among  Leroux's  hoards,  and  Edmee  was  keenly,  feverishly 
disappointed.  Some  gladness  however  her  money  brought 
her.  She  knew  how  much  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  had 
regi'etted  her  little  property  at  Mortemart,  and  had  long 
hoped  to  earn  enough  by  her  painting  to  buy  it  back.  It 
had  found  no  pui-chaser ;  houses  were  less  in  request  than 
land.  M.  Delys  entered  with  delight  into  the  scheme,  and 
insisted  on  helping  in  every  part  of  it,  quite  unaware  how 
much  he  embaiTassed  Edmee  by  his  inexperience  in  all  practical 
matters,  and  his  susceptibiKty  if  he  suspected  he  was  not 
indispensable.  It  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  him  that  the 
business  had  to  be  canned  on  in  his  name,  as  it  would  not 
have  been  prudent  to  let  that  of  an  aristocrat  appear  in  it ; 
and  he  was  happily  convinced  that  it  was  entirely  owing  to 
his  good  manasjement  that  Edmee  was  at  last  able  to  offer 
the  papers  which  gave  possession  of  tlie  liouse  and  garden  to 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  who  was  touched  even  to  tears. 
She  had  not  shed  one  over  their  troubles,  but  they  overflowed 
in  this  moment  of  surprise  and  pleasure.  She  began  imme- 
diately to  make  schemes  for  re-visitmg  Mortemart,  and  her 
movements  were  precipitated  by  news  which  at  first  sight 
might  have  rather  appeared  calculated  to  detain  her  in  Paris. 


294  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

IN   THE   ATELIER. 

'Already?    You  are  going  already]'  said  M.  Delys,  as 
Edmee  moved  from  lier  easel. 

*  You  do  not  know  how  late  it  is,  dear  master.  My  aunt 
will  wonder  where  I  am.  The  day  would  seem  long  to  her 
if  I  did  not  give  her  an  hour  or  two  in  the  afternoon  now 
that  she  has  not  her  menage  to  look  after,  as  at  Mortemart, 
and  no  visits  to  pay.' 

'Yes,  I  suppose  women  do  find  a  pleasiu-e  in  paying 
visits,'  said  M.  Delys,  shrugging  his  shoulders 

*  And  some  men  also,  mon  mattre.' 

'  Yes,  some  men,  as  you  say.  It  used  to  seem  the  chief 
occupation  formerly  of  those  amphibious  creatm-es,  the  abbes, 
men  made  to  swim  in  the  shallows  of  aristocracy,  alM-ays 
haunting  salons— the  indispensables,  as  they  were  called— or 
of  such  soldiers  as  I  remember  seeing  sometimes  in  the 
Blanquefort  salons,  that  hotel  which  that  common  fellow  said 
he  had  bought  when  he  came  here  a  while  ago — ' 

'  Yes,  I  recollect,'  said  Edmee,  amused  at  the  vindictive- 
ness  with  which  M.  Delys  still  spoke  of  citoyen  Jobin. 

'  The  young  Comtesse-  was  charming,  it  was  her  mother- 
in-law  who  encom-aged  the  swarm  of  idlers.  I  tell  you  I 
have  seen  a  colonel  and  a  captain  enter  together,  each  with  a 
reticule  by  his  side,  and  each  take  out  a  gold  needle  with 
which  one  began  to  embroider  a  floimce  which  the  Dowager 
Countess  had  in  hand,  and  the  other  worked  at  her  tamboiu- 
frame,  and  better  than  she  did — better  than  she  did  herself ! 
— But  why  need  you  go  to  your  aunt  so  early  1 ' 

'  It  is  my  usual  time  ;  I  hardly  see  her  of  an  evening,  so 
many  people  come  to  her  soirees,  and  besides  I  like  reading 
to  her  ;  I  should  be  soiTy  to  be  nothing  but  a  painter.' 

M.  Delys  grunted,  and  she  saw  that  his  susceptibility  was 
wounded, 

'  It  is  not  as  if  I  were  a  man,'  she  continued  ;  '  a  man's 
life  is  a  sort  of  education,  but  a  woman  must  learn  from  books.' 


IW  THE  ATELIER  295 

'  TLere  is  sometLing  in  that,'  said  M.  Delys,  monified ; 

*  and  if  it  be  for  ycnr  own  pleasure  I  have  nothing  to  say, 
but  if  it  be  for  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan's,  who  is  perfectly 
able  to  amuse  herself,  and  has  no  conception  of  the  devotion 
requii-ed  by  art,  I  gi-udge  the  time.' 

'  I  know  you  do,  dear  master,'  said  Edmee,  with  a  smile, 
for  it  was  not  easy  to  divide  herself  in  two  so  as  to  content 
her  two  best  friends,  each  of  whom  was  unwilling  to  spare 
her  to  the  other.  'But  I  paint  better  for  a  change  of 
thought,  and  I  had  so  little  time  to  learn  anytliing  as  a  child ; 
after  marraine  died — you  know  what  pains  she  took  with  me 
as  long  as  she  lived — no  one  taught  me  anything.' 

'  AVho  is  there  1  am  I  never  to  have  a  moment's  peace  1 
nothing  but  interruptions  from  morning  to  evening  ! '  ex- 
claimed M.  Delys,  imgi-atefully  oblivious  of  the  long  hoiu-s 
during  wliich  no  one  had  disturbed  him. 

'  It  is  only  Balmat,  mon  maitre.  Why,  Balmat,  what 
has  happened  1  You  look  as  if  you  had  rubbed  your  face 
against  the  sun  !     I  declare  you  are  an  inch  taller.' 

'  That  is  because  I  have  had  a  great  privilege,'  said  Bal- 
mat, as  he  closed  the  door  noiselessly,  well  aware  how  any 
loud  or  unexpected  sound  jarred  on  the  sensitive  nerves  of 
the  old  painter.     '  I  have  been  in  the  Ate'ier  des  Sabines  ! ' 

*  What !    what ! '  exclaimed  M.  Delys,  turning  sharply. 

*  You  !  David  has  allowed  you  to  see  his  picture  1 ' 

'  You  have  been  in  the  Atelier  des  Sabines  ! '  cried  Edmee, 
•with  great  interest,  for  the  celebrated  picture  which  David 
was  known  to  have  in  hand  in  the  great  garret  which  had 
been  allotted  to  his  use  for  that  purpose  in  the  Louvre  had 
been  seen  by  very  few,  and  in  the  art  loving  world  it  was  a 
matter  of  great  curiosity  and  excitement.  Balmat  had  to 
give  a  minute  account  of  the  studio  itself,  of  the  sketches 
which  David  had  made  for  his  picture,  and  of  the  moment 
which  he  had  selected  in  the  history  of  the  Sabine  women 
can-ied  off  by  the  Eomans. 

'  I  saw  David  at  work,  he  was  sketching  in  the  figure  of 
a  child,  one  of  a  gi-oup,'  Balmat  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  still 
under  the  impression  of  awe-struck  joy  and  gratitude  which 
had  made  his  heart  beat  fast  when  he  found  himself  in  those 


296  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

honoured  precincts.  '  Franqiie,  whom  he  allows  to  heip  him, 
was  at  work  too.  I  cannot  say  how  gi-ancl  the  figure  of 
Tatius  is !  The  only  thing  I  daie  question  is  his  decision 
to  make  all  the  figures  nvide,  and  the  horses  without  curb  or 
rein.  But  it  is  magTiificent,  and  will  be  thought  moie,  not 
less  so  in  the  days  to  come  ! ' 

M.  Delys  was  always  as  curious  as  a  child  about 
anything  which  caught  his  attention,  and  like  a  chiM,  loved 
to  obtain  the  minutest  details  regarding  it,  though  utterly 
impatient  of  whatever  lay  without  the  circle  of  his  interests, 
and  it  was  not  for  some  time  that  Edmee  could  enquire, 
*  How  came  you  to  be  so  favoured,  Jacques '] ' 

Balmat  coloured  like  a  girl. 

'  He — You  know  he  always  did  say  I  could  draw,  and 
he  values  that  immensely ;  his  teaching  is  founded  on 
correct  drawing.  A  sketch  of  mine  pleased  him  ;  he  had 
told  us  all  to  di-aw  some  group  or  single  figure,  which  might 
be  useful  to  him  in  this  picture.  We  laughed,  but  he  was 
serious.  Ah,  you  do  not  know  how  truly  modest  David  is  ! 
only  his  pupils  do  know  it.  He  repeated  that  he  would  do 
his  best  to  use  anything  of  merit  whicli  we  could  produce — we 
have  tried  the  sort  of  thing  often  before,  but  never  with 
such  a  hope.     And  mine  pleased  him.' 

'  Oh,  Jacques,  how  glad  I  am  ! '  exclaimed  Edm^e,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand,  with  a  dew  of  gladness  in  her  sweet  eyes. 

'  David  used  a  sketch  of  yours  ! '  said  M.  Delys,  with  un- 
disgiiised  astonishment. 

*  3£on  mattre  !  yovi  did  not  need  that  to  assure  you  how 
well  Balmat  draws  !  You  are  as  bad  as  M.  Jobin  himself!' 
said  Edmee,  reproachfully. 

'  So  I  am,  child,  so  I  am,'  answered  M.  Delys,  with  a 
gesture  of  vexation.  '  But  see  you — somehow  I  never  under- 
stood it  thoioughly.  David  is  going  to  introduce  a  sketch  of 
yoms  in  the  Sabines  ! ' 

For  the  first  time  Balmat  seemed  to  him  something  more 
than  an  excellent  young  Swiss,  slow  in  manners  and  tongue  ; 
he  had  not  liked  the  naturalistic  style  of  his  paintings,  and 
prejudice  had  really  until  now  blinded  him  to  their  merit. 
It  was  a  shaip  lesson  to  Edmee  on  how  hard  it  was  to  win  a 
name,  or  make  merit  recognised  without  one. 


7.y  THE  ATELIER.  297 

.  '  I  mnst  tell  you  that  after  all  the  attitude  of  my  figure 
was  only  one  which  I  once  saw  a  model  take  involuntariy 
when  tii-ed  of  posing,'  said  Balmat,  with  the  old  look  which 
Edmee  knew  so  well.  '  I  recollected  it,  and  knew  it  after- 
wards.' 

'  Can  you  do  that  ? '  asked  ]\I.  Delys  with  interest. 
Evei-ything  wliich  Balmat  did  was  worth  heaiing  now,  since 
David  thought  so  well  of  his  talent  as  to  employ  an  idea  of 
his  in  the  Sabines. 

'  Certainly.  From  a  child  I  have  had  the  habit  of  looking 
cai-efally  at  tilings,  and  reproducing  them  from  memory — you 
may  imagine  I  could  not  run  and  draw  every  time  I  wished 
it  at  home  ! ' 

'  I  should  know  anywhere  that  you  were  an  artist,'  said 
Edmee,  looking  at  the  honest  Swiss  face,  redeemed  from 
homeliness  by  the  clear,  observant  look  to  which  she  alluded, 
*  You  see  things.  What  a  good  face  it  is  too  ! '  she  added  in- 
wardly. '  Why,  Jacques,  everyone  will  want  to  see  you  ; 
you  will  lie  questioned  as  if  you  had  been  to  unknown  lands ! 
and — though  I  think  people  might  see  their  merit  for  them- 
selves— surely  this  will  help  to  sell  your  pictures? ' 

'How  sor 

'  Why,  when  it  is  known  that  David  thought  so  highly 
of  you— — ■ 

'  How  should  it  be  known  1  No  one  will  hear  of  it  out- 
side of  the  atelier,  and  you  do  not  suppose,  I  imagine,  that  I 
shall  go  about  announcing  it  ? ' 

Edmee  was  silent,  but  M.  Do'y^  exclaimed,  '  You  will  be 
a  fool  if  you  do  not,  my  lad.  Do  you  suppose  that  if  such  a 
thing  had  happened  to  Franque,  or  Eichard,  or  Robin,  they 
would  not  have  announced  it  to  all  the  foiu*  wuids,  and  made 
a  fortune  out  of  it  ] ' 

*  I  cannot  say,  but  it  is  not  my  way,'  answered  Balmat, 
quietly,  and  Edmf^e  resolved  to  learn  the  fact  afresh  from 
Franque,  who  often  came  to  Miulemoiselle  de  St.  Aignau's 
salon,  so  as  to  u.se  it  for  Balmat's  benotit,  without  broacli  of 
confidence,  but  she  knew  that  she  must  be  cautious.  All  tlve 
other  men  whom  she  knew  would  have  taken  it  as  a  matter 
of  course  to  use  interest  and  inlluence,  and  get  oji  by  worship- 


298  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

ping  whatever  star  was  in  the  ascendant,  even  if  its  beams 
were  none  of  the  purest ;  but  none  of  all  this  was  possible  to 
Balmat.  'He  Ls  a  Swiss,  you  see!'  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  would  say,  in  explanation  of  some  such  perplexing 
fiict,  and  such  as  it  was  the  explanation  was  undeniable. 
Thinking   of  someone  very  unlike  him   made  Edmee  ask, 

*  You  have  heard  nothing  of  Isnard  1 ' 

'  Nothing.  It  is  very  strange.  He  must  have  got  into 
some  scrape.' 

'  That  is  exceedingly  likely,'  said  M.  Delys.  *  How  he 
kept  his  head  on  in  '93  and  '94  I  cannot  imagine,  except  that 
it  was  so  empty  that  no  one  would  have  it,  Imt  it  seems  rather 
hard  to  lose  it  now.  Since  the  five  kings  of  France  have  sat 
on  theii'  curule  chairs,  with  their  tlesh-colovired  breeches  and 
regal  mantles' — M.  Delys  was  always  disrespectful  and  spite- 
ful to  the  Dii-ectory- — '  we  have  had  a  soi-t  of  truce,  but 
Heaven  only  knows  what  any  day  may  bi-ing ! ' 

'  It  is  a  good  sign  that  letters  come  now  with  less  delay, 
and  seem  less  often  examined,'  said  Balmat,  and  there  was 
something  in  his  voice  which  made  Edmee  look  quickly  at 
him.    '  Yes,'  he  said,  as  if  in  answer  to  her  unspoken  question, 

*  I  have  heard  from  Dubois,  he  who  did  not  gain  the  grand 
prix,^  added  Ba'mat,  in  explanation  to  M.  Delys,  '  but  has 
gone  nevertheless  to  study  at  Home.  I  had  told  him  that 
I  had  reason  to  believe  a  friend  of  mine  was  in  Italy,  study- 
ing painting,  and  bade  him  send  me  word  if  he  heard  any- 
thincj,  and  it  seems  he  has  met  with  someone  who  knows  St. 
A-ignan  well.' 

'  Im  hecile  !  what  need  was  there  to  meddle  in  the  matter  1 ' 
gi'owled  M.  Delys  aside,  as  he  saw  his  vague  hopes  that 
nothing  would  be  heard  of  Alain  dashed  to  the  groiuid. 
Edmee  was  too  much  moved  to  smile  at  this  self-betrayal. 

*  Why  has  he  never  tried  to  come  home  when  so  many 
have  returned  1 '  she  asked,  in  an  unsteady  voice. 

'  It  seems  that  he  has  tried  to  have  his  name  raye,  and 
was  assvired  not  only  that  it  was  hopeless,  but  that  to  draw 
attention  to  his  emigration  might  endanger  any  of  his  family 
still  in  France.' 

'Who  told  him  that  r 


/iV'  THE  ATELIER.  290 

*  As  far  as  I  can  vinderstancl — Dubois  himself  had  not  met 
him,  you  know — it  was  M.  de  Pelven.' 

'  I  knew  it ! '  said  Edmee,  turning  pale.  *  Am  I  always 
to  stand  between  him  and  happiness  1 ' 

*  We  must  overcome  these  difficulties.  The  Count  is  an 
artist ;  we  must  get  David  to  obtain  permission  for  him  to 
retm-n.' 

'  Impossible !  he  would  never  accept  a  favoiu'  from  a 
regicide.' 

*  You  speak  like  a  silly  child,'  interrupted  M.  Delys,  all 
the  more  sharply  that  he  felt  not  only  irritable,  but  guilty. 
He  will  only  see  in  David  tlie  painter  who  has  regenerated 
art  in  France.  He  may  even  wish  to  be  his  pupil.  Let  me 
see  :  David  has  but  few  in  his  atelier  just  now ;  Gros  is 
leaving  it ;  Gerard  is  working  independently — have  you  seen 
his   Psyche,    Balmaf?      Suppose    I    try   what   David    says 

toitr 

'  Try,  dear  master.  You  have  told  me  all  you  know, 
Jacques  1  Then  promise  me,  both  of  you,  to  say  nothing  to 
my  aunt.  Ah,  you  laiow  how  reluctant  I  am  to  delay  the 
joy  which  she  would  feel'  in  learning  that  he  is  safe,  may  soon 
retm-n ;  but  you  know  too  how  she  would  try  to  prevent  my 
giving  him  Ids  liberty.  Only  let  me  see  him,  let  me  speak 
to  him,  and  settle  that,  and  then  I  will  have  the  delight  o 
saying  that  he  has  come  back.' 

'  Stop,  child,  you  must  do  as  you  like,  but  as  to  giA^ing 
him  his  liberty,  as  you  choose  to  call  it,  I  absolutely  refuse  to 
help  you  in  that  matter.' 

'  Ah,  that  is  not  necessary.  I  can  act  for  myself  in  this. 
You  promise  too,  Jacques  1 ' 

'  No  one  has  a  right  to  interfere,  but  I  am  sorry  for  your 
resolution,'  answered  Balmat,  gravely,  his  instinct  of  law 
and  duty  ranging  itself  against  her  dc^(:ermination,  but  his 
conviction  that  each  individual  must  b'e  free  to  act  according 
to  his  conscience  withholding  him  from  further  interference. 

'  He  must  not  retxirn  to  bondage  ! — Hush,  there  is  my 
aunt ;  she  cannot  understand  what  has  delayed  me.' 

The  high  heels  were  tripping  down  the  stairs,  and  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  appeared  to  demand  whether  Edm^e 
had  forgotten  the  hour. 


300  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  And  I  am  dying  to  know  what  there  is  in  this  packet 
wkich  the  nephew  of  Madelon  Crocq  has  brought  for  Ealmat, 
but  it  comes  from  St.  Aignan,  and  is  therefore  doubtless 
from  your  uncle,  and  for  you,  rua  billf,'  said  she,  handing 
over  a  packet  to  Edmee,  who  took  it  with  the  uncontrollable 
reluctance  with  which  she  always  encountered  anything  con- 
nected with  St.  Aignan.  She  stood  reading  a  letter  which 
she  found  within  it,  and  her  fice  betrayed  unusual  emotion. 

'  My  uncle  has  sent  me  some  papei's,  found  under  a  board 
in  our  old  house,'  she  said,  seeing  general  attention  atti-acted 
to  lier.  '  He  thought  I  had  better  ha\e  them,  though  they 
uo  not  belong  to  me,'  and  she  fastened  them  up  with  a 
manifest  intention  of  giving  no  fni-ther  explanation.  It 
was  never  easy  for  anyone,  even  INIademoLselle  do  St.  Aignan, 
to  question  Edmee,  when  she  did  not  choose  it,  and  M.  Delys 
and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  could  only  exchange  enquii*- 
ing  and  meaning  looks. 

'  This  good  man  of  an  luicle  looks  after  your  interests,  it 
seems.  Our  friend  here  made  a  joiu-ney  worth  taking  when 
he  gave  up  so  much  of  his  valuable  time  on  your  behalf,  ma 
charmante.' 

'  Mademoi  elle,  I  am  very  glad  to  have  served  this  child, 
but  as  you  know  my  jom-ney  had  another  object.  As  for  the 
uncle,  he  appeared  rather  fond  of  our  little  gii-l — an  odd  thing, 
is  it  not  ?  and  besides  I  ft>ncy  him  not  ill-pleased  to  have  a 
niece  who  is  a  Countess,  Republican  though  he  be.' 

'  Let  me  tell  you  that  real  Republicans  are  very  rare  crea- 
tures, dear  monsieur.  There  must  ]ye  some,  somewhere,  but  only 
once  in  a  hundred  years.  Such  a  one  is  liberal  enough  in  theory, 
but  in  practice  he  would  throw  his  sl-aves  to  the  lampreys,  all 
of  course  to  benefit  the  human  race.  And  do  you  think  I  don't 
know  that  those  democratic  pupils  of  Da\4d's  show  a  certain 
respect  to  rank  1  that  M.  de  Forbin  is  looked  iip  to  because 
he  is  a  man  of  good  birth,  though  they  cut  off  the  De  and 
ignore  his  title  %  Allez,  I  am  a  better  Republican  than  any  of 
them,  including  David  himself,  for  he  beai-s  a  gi-udge  to  all 
nobly  born,  while  I  care  nothing  whether  a  man  be  a  duke . 
or  a  charcoal-burner,  so  long  as  he  is  witty  and  agreea1)le.' 

'  Ah,  dear  aunt,  an  aristocrat  like  you  cannot  possibly 


Hi  THE  ATELIER.  301 

understand  how  mucli  easier  it  is  for  you  to  feel  thus  than 
for  one  of  low  hu-th  ! '  said  Edmee,  making  an  effort  to  join 
in  the  conversation. 

'  Come  in  then  !  Let  everyone  in  the  Louvre  come  in  by 
all  means,'  said  M.  De^ys,  exasjDerated,  as  a  fresh  knock  came 
at  the  door.  One  of  David's  pupils  entered,  in  classic  cos- 
tume, white  tunic  and  sandals.  He  bowed  with  an  embarrassed 
ail-  to  JMademoiselle  de  St,  Aignan,  trying  to  look  as  if  he 
had  not  heard  the  '  Juste  ciel ! '  which  escaped  her  lips  at  the 
sight  of  him. 

'  I  hope  you  are  not  busy,  monsieui*,'  he  said  ;  '  I  want  you 
to  help  some  of  us  who  have  got  into  cUfficulties.' 

'  I  never  help  anyone,  and  I  dare  say  it  is  no  more  than 
you  deserved.  Busy  ! — how  should  I  be  busy  at  this  rate  1  Is 
this  my  atelier  or  not  % ' 

'  What  has  happened,  Ducis  ?  '  interposed  Balmat. 

'What  always  happens  when  a  man  dares  to  have  an 
ideal,  a  system  too  lofty  for  the  common  herd.  You  know 
that  we  have  long  felt  that  a  living,  A^sible  protestation  against 
modern  costume,  modern  customs  was  absolutely  necessary  ; 
we  have  attempted  it  singly  for  several  years — ' 

*  Vv^iy,  it  was  you,  monsieur,  whom  I  remarked  the  first 
day  I  was  in  Paris  ! '  cried  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  sud- 
denly recollecting  the  apparition  which  had  so  amazed  her. 

'  Madame  ! — '  Ducis  bowed,  evidently  flattered.  '  Now 
the  number  of  those  who  think  thus  is  gi-eatly  increased ;  we 
have  banded  together,  and  determined  to  teach  the  populace 
by  the  eye,  and  induce  it  to  return  to  piimitive  habits  of 
thought  and  jife .' 

'  Good  heavens,  think  of  the  climate  ! '  exclaimed  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan.    '  Some  costume  siu-ely  is  advisable  ?■ ' 

Ducis  looked  at  her  with  austere  reproach.  His  enthu- 
siasm was  too  genuine  to  be  shaken,  but  he  felt  regi-et  for  her 
blinded  state  of  mind. 

*  Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  that ;  Quai  has  often  deafened  me 
with  it,'  said  M.  Delys.     '  Is  he  in  trouble  ? ' 

'  No,  but  some  who  feel  that  even  Maurice  Quai  does  not 
fully  carry  out  our  principles  resolved  to  live  in  the  forest.3 
aaid  lead  a  primeval  life..     They  had  just  cut  down  a  tree  to 


302  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

make  a  fii-e,  when  the  gardes  arrested  them,  took  them  to 
prisou — ' 

'  That  is  serious/  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  en- 
chanted by  tliis  denouement. 

*  That  is  not  the  worst,  madame  ! ' 

*  But  what  then,  monsieur  1  you  a^arm  me.* 

'  They  cut  then-  hah- ! '  said  Ducis,  tragically.  '  You  laugh, 
madame,  but  long  hair  was  one  of  the  signs  of  our  sect ;  in 
itself  it  was  a  protestation  against  that  barbarous  thing  called 
fashion.' 

'  I  suppose  that  they  cannot  be  released  until  someone  of 
sufficient  standing  vouches  for  their  patriotism,'  said  Ba^mat, 

'  And  you  imagine  that  I  \n\\  mix  myself  up  with  this 
ridiculous  business  % '  cried  M.  Delys.  *  Go  and  ask  David ; 
they  are  his  pupils,  not  mine,  thank  Heaven  ! ' 

*  He  is  opposed  to  our  sect,  as  you  know.' 

*  I  tell  vou  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  A  set  of 
fools  and  madmen  ! ' 

Ducis  turned  to  Balmat,  and  exchanged  a  few  worda 
unheard,  then,  bowing,  withdrew.  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan  burst  into  hearty  laiigliter,  which  infected  her  com- 
panions. '  Will  you  explain  M.  DucLs'  costume  1 '  she  asked, 
as  soon  as  she  could  speak. 

*  A  very  good  fellow ;  it  is  only  his  way  of  protesting 
against  the  gi'oss  and  cumbersome  ugliness  of  common  life^ 
everyone  ought  to  do  the  same,'  said  M.  Delys,  whom  nothing 
woiild  have  induced  to  exchange  his  neat  and  soigne  costume 
for  any  tunic  ever  woven. 

*  Bon  J  at  all  events  it  is  a  costume,  while  David  wants, 
by  what  I  hear  of  his  Sabines,  to  teach  us  to  do  without  one 
altogether,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.  '  I  suppose  he 
thinks  when  we  come  to  that  we  shall  believe  ourselves  in 
Paradise.  No,  never  shall  I  get  used  to  the  idea  of  people 
walking  about  my  poor  Paris  dressed  like  Greeks,  and  callmg 
themselves  Agamemnon  and  Aiistides  !  Balmat,  bring  Ducis 
this  evening.' 

'  His  costume  is  not  more  extraordinary  than  those  of  half- 
a-dozen  years  ago,'  retorted  M.  Delys,  who  was  in  one  of  his 
most  contradictory  moods,     '  I  have  seen  ladies  kneehug  ia 


IN  TUB  ATELIER  303 

their  carriages  with  their  heads  out  of  window,  because  theii' 
coiffares  were  so  high  tliat  they  could  not  sit  upright ! ' 

'  Ah  bah  !  you  do  not  know  a  work  of  art  when  you  sea 
it.  Good-bye,  ma  petite,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  begin  our 
■reading  now;  M.  Delys  v/ill  give  me  his  arm.' 

The  narrow  staircase  forbade  much  show  of  gallantly,  but 
when  they  were  at  the  top  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  placed 
herself  between  her  companion  and  the  stairs,  barring  ail 
chance  of  escape  for  him,  lifted  her  finger  and  said,  '  Now 
%ell  me  Avhat  you  have  heard  of  my  nephew.  Don't  deny  it ; 
you  have  news.  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  that  child's 
face,  and  you  yourself  have  a  guilty  look.' 

'  But,  mademoiselle,'  began  M.  Delys,  depi^ecatingly,  and 
looking  rovmd  with  an  evident  intention  of  flight.  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  instantly  seized  him  by  his  ruffle,  and 
held  him  captive. 

'  Don't  talk  to  me  of  huts  ;  you  know  that  your  flowers 
are  fading  in  the  atelier  ;  it  is  nearly  noon,  and  I  have  often 
heard  you  say  that  between  noon  and  four  o'clock  no  good 
work  is  ever  done ;  nature  is  at  rest ;  the  sun's  rays  are  at  an 
angle  unfavourable  to  creation — is  it  not  so  ]  Exactly,  Well 
then,  instead  of  losing  precious  time,  speak  out.' 

Thus  adjiu-ed,  M.  Delys  spoke,  not  sorry  to  be  obliged  to 
do  so. 

'  Listen,  my  old  friend,'  she  answered,  after  a  pause  of 
reflection,  '  my  heart  beats  with  joy  at  the  thought  of  seeing 
my  nephew  again,  but  I  have  waited  ncai-ly  four  years ;  I 
can  wait  a. little  longer.  Do  not  speak  to  him  of  me ;  let  him 
see  Edmee  without  knowing  her  ;   take  ham  to  your  atelier.' 

'  But  he  will  recognise  her,  and  you  know  her  fixed  reso- 
lution.' 

'  Then  tell  him  where  I  am.  I  shall  go  to  visit  my  little 
domaua  at  Mortemai't.  But  I  fancy  she  Avill  find  it  more 
dilhcult  than  she  thinks  to  tell  him  he  is  free.  Let  us  gain. 
time,  and  mind  that  she  does  not  discover  how  basely  you 
have  betrayed  all  this,  to  me.  Oh  yes,  it  was  very  base,  but 
we  all  know  you  are  too  good-natured  to  refuse  anything  asked 
of  you.  Fi  done  I  v/ould  you  pretend  that  you  are  not  good- 
natured  1  Now  what  can  be  the  use  of  denying  what  every- 
one knows  1  Adieu,  my  good  friend,  go  and  release  the  captives.' 


304  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

It  must  have  been  sheer  bewilderment  at  these  unjust  ac- 
cusations wliich  upset  all  M.  Delys'  resolves,  as  expressed  to 
Duels,  for  after  a  ge?.tm-e  of  despair  he  went  off  to  see  what 
could  be  done  for  the  unlucky  '  penseurs,'  without  there  being 
any  need  for  the  mediation  of  Balmat,  who  was  awaiting  his 
return  in  the  atelier.  '  How  you  have  improved  ! '  he  said  to 
Edmee,  looking  at  the  flower-piece  on  which  she  had  been 
engaged. 

'  Yes,  so  Eedoute  said,'  she  answered,  indifierently,  though 
the  praises  of  Kedoute,  whose  celebrity  as  a  flower-painter  was 
Eiu-opcan,  had  only  the  day  before  thrilled  her  with  delight. 

*  You  do  not  seem  to  care  ! ' 

'  iSTo,  not  just  now,'  said  Edmee,  for  the  first  time  feeling 
as  if  her  art  were  unsatisfpng,  and  startled  by  some  inward 
voice  which  asked  what,  should  that  fail  her,  she  had  left  to 
fill  her  life  1 

'  Yes,  you  make  great  progress,  and  you  have  worked  for 
it.  How  beautiful  these  flowers  are  !  I  came  on  a  verse  of 
a  Psalm  to-day  which  seemed  meant  for  you :  "  Thou  hast 
made  me  glad  through  Thy  works." ' 

'  Ah,  you  have  your  Bible ;  no  one  can  take  that  from  you, 
for  if  you  were  deprived  of  the  Iwok,  it  is  in  your  heart.  But 
I  seem  to  have  lost  everytliing — no  altar,  no  priest,  no  holy 
days !  How  can  any  good  come  to  a  country  which  has 
denied  its  God  1 ' 

'  There  is  a  rumour  that  the  churches  may  be  soon  re- 
opened.' 

*  Oh,  Jacques  ! '  and  Edmee .  stood  with  clasped  hands, 
quite  silent.  When  she  looked  up,  it  was  to  say,  *  Will  you 
take  care  of  these  for  me,  Jacques  1  It  is  strange  they  and 
your  news  from  Home  should  come  together.  I  mil  tell  you 
another  time  what  to  do  with  them. 

Balmat  took  the  packet  without  a  question. 

'  You  are  the  best  friend  anyone  ever  had,'  she  said,  gi-ate- 
fuUy.  '  Perhaps,  after  all,  things  may  tiu-n  out  better  than 
one  expected.' 

Balmat  stood  watcliing  her  while  she  resumed  her  paint- 
ing. Y/ith  his  own  exquisite  pleasure  in  David's  praise  still 
ficsh,  he  could  not  understand  her  apparent  indillerence  to 


Ilf  THE  ATELIER.  305 

that  of  Eedout«,  no  less  famous  in  his  own  line  than  was  the 
historical  painter  in  his.  He  thought  in  his  humility  that  it 
was  only  because  the  encouragement  came  after  long,  almost 
hopeless  waiting  that  it  was  so  sweet;  perhaps  to  Edmee, 
whose  path  in  art  as  well  as  her  canvas  had  been  strewn  with 
roses,  it  seemed  less  valuable.  But  Balmat  had  not  discovered 
the  true  explanation.  He  felt  as  a  man,  and  loved  ai-t  for 
itself;  Edmee  was  an  artist,  but  even  more  a  woman,  and 
her  restless  heart  waking  up  cared  little  for  what  only  con- 
cerned the  mind.  How  wildly  it  could  beat  she  had  yet  to 
learn ;  her  da%\aiing  liking  for  De  Pelven,  struck  dead  almost 
before  she  was  conscious  of  it,  had  not  revealed  it,  but  sho 
trembled  already,  like  an  Undine  aware  that  some  new,  un- 
known, all-powerful  force  was  about  to  possess  her.  Balmat 
comprehended  her  mood  enough  to  leave  her  in  peace,  and 
they  parted  with  only  a  mute  sign  of  farewell  when  he  fovind 
he  could  wait  no  longer  for  the  retui-n  of  M.  Delys.  He 
guessed  that  the  old  man  was  taking  measures  for  the  release 
of  the  *  penseurs,'  and  accordingly  a  couple  of  days  later  they 
reappeared  in  the  atelier,  to  be  welcomed  with  many  unpity- 
iug  jests.  They  brought  some  news  with  them  ;  one  of  them 
had  discovered  the  tenant  of  the  next  cell  to  be  Isnard,  the 
vanished  Isnard.  They  had  been  able  to  communicate  suffi- 
ciently for  Isnard  to  declare  that  he  had  neither  been  tried 
nor  could  learn  on  what  charge  he  was  detained.  He  was  no 
gi'eat  favourite  in  the  atelier,  where  his  moody  vanity  made 
him  a  butt  who  did  not  always  respond  harmlessly  to  tlie 
raillery  spared  to  no  one,  but  that  a  pupil  of  David's  should 
be  thus  in  durance  vile  roused  a  storm  of  indignation,  and 
various  plans  were  formed  to  obtain  his  freedom,  none  of 
Avhich  when  put  to  the  proof  seemed  very  hopeful.  David 
did  not  take  up  the  cause  warmly,  and  none  of  the  jiupils 
happened  to  know  a  member  of  the  Dii-ectory.  It  was  how- 
ever already  something  gained  that  they  knew  where  Isnard 
was,  and  unless  something  should  occur  to  put  him  out  of 
their  heads,  there  was  A,  fail'  chance  in  the.se  changing  days 
that  one  or  another  would  discover  some  key  to  his  prison 
door. 


306  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

CHAPTER  XXXY. 

HOPES    AND    FEARS. 

The  EepuWican  painter  Louis  Da"\ad  had  an  embarrassing 
past  which  he  would  faiu  have  forgotten,  and  persuaded 
others  to  forget.  He  was  a  man  who,  with  a  cold  heart  and 
but  little  imagination,  was  yet  rapidly  can-ied  away  by  the 
impression  of  the  moment,  and  at  one  time  admired  Mai-at 
and  Jacobinism  as  uni-easoningly  as  he  afterwards  did  the 
genius  and  the  tyi-anny  of  Napoleon.  He  could  scarcely  be 
called  inconsistent,  for  he  had  never  possessed  any  fixed  prin- 
ciples. Under  the  Directory,  and  with  the  recollection  of 
those  long,  gloomy  months  spent  in  prison,  with  death  hang- 
ing over  him,  his  revolutionary  fever  altogether  cooled,  and 
when  released  and  again  popular,  he  willingly  threw  his  segis 
over  any  Royalist  who  would  accept  his  protection.  Balmat's 
appeal  on  behalf  of  the  young  Comte  de  St.  Aignan  was  readily 
listened  to  ;  so  changed  were  David's  feelings  that  the  aris- 
tocratic name  alone  spoke  in  the  ownei-'s  favour,  though 
Balmat  explained  that  his  friend  was  of  a  family  so  distantly 
related  to  the  Due  de  St.  Aignan  that  the  connection  could 
scarcely  be  traced,  and  DaAdd  mihesitatingly  promised  to  use 
his  intiuence  in  enablinsr  Alain  to  return  without  dano;er. 
Some  exiles  had  boldly  retiu'ned  without  waiting  for  the 
ceremony  of  having  their  names  struck  off  the  fatal  list 
which  doomed  them  to  death,  but  it  was  a  hazardous  step, 
and  one  not  to  be  thought  of  in  Alain's  case,  where  there 
.was  a  dangerous  enemy  in  the  background.  With  some 
difficulty  M.  Delys  had  been  induced  to  let  Balmat  negotiate 
the  matter  instead  of  appearing  in  it  himself,  lest  De  Pelven, 
hearing  that  someone  was  moving  on  Alain's  behalf,  should 
make  enquiiies,  and  so  come  on  Edmee's  track.  Her  nervous 
fear  of  him  was  invincible,  though  she  knew  that  in  these 
changed  and  calmer  times  he  could  scarcely  place  her  in 
actual  danger.     The  sense  of  his  power  and  of  his  a\t.I1  to 


HOPES  AND  FEARS.  307 

harm  her  "and  those  whom  she  loved  had  so  strongly  im- 
pressed her  that  she  shrank  from  his  very  name,  independent 
of  the  shame  and  anger  which  it  awoke  from  other  causes. 

A  new  and  unforeseen  diiBculty  appeared  when  the  ques- 
tion ai'ose  as  to  where  Alain  was.  They  knew  that  he  had 
been  in  England,  they  had  heard  of  him  in  Italy,  but  had  no 
clue  to  his  actual  whereabouts.  Balmat  did  not  think  this 
an  insuperable  obstacle.  There  was  a  freemasonry  among 
artists,  he  said,  which  would  sooner  or  later  enable  him  to 
find  out  Avhere  Alain  was,  and  he  set  enqvaiiies  on  foot  at 
once,  through  his  friend  in  Eome,  with  a  certainty  that  he 
should  soon  learn  what  he  desired,  which  communicated  it- 
self to  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  and  to  Edmee,  in  whom 
it  woke  a  tumult  of  feeling  which  amazed  and  frightened 
her,  and  made  it  so  difficult  to  find  that  absorbing  delight  in 
her  art  which  had  never  before  failed  her  as  to  keep  before 
her  the  doubt,  I'epelled  with  vain  impatience,  as  to  whether  art 
alone  would  suffice  to  fill  her  heai't  and  life.  '  If  things  were 
once  settled — if  he  had  come  and  it  were  all  done  with,  I 
shovild  feel  as  I  used,'  she  would  repeat  to  herself,  the  more 
vehemently  that  all  the  time  she  knew  that  never  again 
should  she  feel  as  she  had  once  done,  never  know  any  more 
exactly  that  happy  peacefulness  which  had  entered  her  heai-t  in 
the  first  days  which  she  spent  in  the  Atelier  du  Lys,  nor  lead 
the  calm,  unawakened  life  which  had  then  fully  contented 
her.  Joy  might  crown  her ;  anguish  might  smite  her  like  a 
sword  ;  hard- won  resignation  might  be  hers  in  the  end,  or 
weaiiness  of  all  things  ape  its  likeness,  and  bid  her  believe 
that  exemption  from  siififering  was  happiness,  but  the  gir'ish 
life  of  '  maiden  meditation,  fancy  free,'  had  unawares 
slipped  away  from  her  for  ever.  She  made  little  outward 
show  of  expectation  or  interest,  biit  there  was  a  fitful  flush  on 
her  cheek,  a  wistful  look  in  her  eyes  which  betrayed  the 
troubled  feelings  that  found  no  outward  vent.  Even  in  her 
dreams  she  was  pursued  by  visions  of  Alain's  suddenly  en- 
tering the  atelier,  and  recognising  -her  with  astonishment — 
perhaps  repugnance.  She  pictured  the  scene,  waking  aud 
sleeping,  in  so  many  ways  that  she  believed  herself  prepared 
for  everything  which  could  possibly  happen,  forgetting  that 


308  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

the  only  thing  which  can  be  safely  reckoned  upon  is  the 
imprevK. 

On  the  other  hand,  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  made  no 
secret  of  her  eager  hopes,  and  the  impatience  with  which  she 
was  awaiting  news  of  her  nephew.  She  would  not  talk  over 
her  feelings  with  Balmat,  who  was  only  a  watchmaker's  son, 
and  moi-eover  scarcely  a  proper  confidant  for  her  perplexities 
as  to  the  tie  between  Edmee  and  Alain,  but  she  seized  on  M. 
Delys  whenever  she  could,  and  exasperated  him  beyond  belief 
with  them,  indifferent  to  the  palpable  fact  that  his  chief 
desire  was  to  ignore  Alain,  and  hear  and  see  nothing  of  this 
disturbing  element  in  a  life  which  to  him,  at  all  events,  was 
perfectly  satisfactory. 

'  Everything  is  upside  down,'  she  would  say  ;  '  there  has 
been  a  hranli  generale,  but  still  some  day  we  shall  have  the 
old  ways  back,'  and  she  spoke  with  a  settled  conviction 
which  made  M.  Delys  shrug  his  shoulders,  forgetting  that  so 
strong  a  conviction  on  the  part  of  many  units  would  go  far 
to  bring  anything  to  pass.  '  One  really  does  not  know  what 
to  expect  now-a-days,  but  in  our  time  no  one  ever  supposed 
there  could  be  any  strong  feeling  between  husband  and  wife. 
It  would  have  been  bad  taste  ;  how  could  they  have  given 
full  attention  to  entertaining  their  guests  if  they  had  been 
occupied  with  each  other  1  No  one  can  be  agreeable  who  is 
preoccupied,  as  I  have  frequently  toM  that  child  Edmee.  My 
brother  rarely  saw  his  wife  ;  he  had  his  office  about  Court, 
and  when  she  was  at  Versailles  she  had  her  guests  to  attend 
to,  he,  his.  Yet  they  were  happy  enough.  But  I  do  not 
know  whether  such  a  life  woixld  content  Edmee.  She  is 
romantic  ;  she  belongs  to  her  time.' 

'  Madame  la  Comtesse  loved  her  children.  She  was  a 
devoted  mother.' 

'  True,  but  tmtil  Jean  Jacques  and  the  reign  of  nature  it 
was  considered  to  be  rather  ho^irgeois.  My  brother  was  dis- 
pleased that  she  spent  so  much  time  at  St.  Aignan  while  the 
Chevalier  was  young,  bui  she  persisted.  I  think  that  she  felt 
her  eldest  son  had  been  too  much  left  to  lacqueys,  for  really 
the  governor  whom  his  father  chose  for  him  was  little  else. 
My  brother  wished  her  to  live  at  Versailles ;  he  hoped  to 


HOPES  AND  FEARS.  309 


advance  his  fortunes  through  her.  Everj^hing  was  possible 
to  a  beautiful  woman  who  would  flatter  and  beg ;  who  could 
be  so  uncivil  as  to  refuse  her  requests'?  She  could  gahi 
abbeys,  bishopi-ics,  pensions  for  all  her  family  by  a  smile  and 
a  compliment.' 

'  That  was  not  the  metier  in  which  Madame  la  Comtesse 
excelled,'  said  M.  Delys.  '  She  coidd  do  all  things  admii-ably 
but  this.' 

'  And  she  had  an  unaccountable  aversion  to  living  in 
public  and  seeking  favoui's.  There  was  a  touch  of  Jansenism 
in  her  family,  you  know,  a  something  rigid  Avhich  one  always 
detected,  a  frondeur  spirit ;  it  is  only  the  true  ancient 
noblesse  which  breathes  in  coiu-ts  as  its  nati\e  atmosphere.' 

M.  Delys  grunted  ;  the  implied  criticism  on  Madame 
de  8t.  Aiscnan  made  him  for  the  time  almost  democratic. 

'  But  if  I  could  only  divine  what  my  nephew's  wishes 
are,'  pursued  INIademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  aH  unconscious  of 
the  semi-conversion  which  she  had  unintentionally  effected, 
*  I  should  be  more  at  ease.' 

'  As  for  me  I  am  more  and  more  convinced,  mademoiselle, 
that  he  had  much  better  set  her  free.' 

'  But  .  .  .  does  the  child  wish  it  % ' 

'  Wish  it  %  wish  it  %     We  all  know  that  she  does.' 

'  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort,'  answered  Mademoiselle  de 
St.  Aignan,  decisively. 

It  was  a  new  and  highly  unwelcome  idea  to  M.  Delys, 
who  had  a  little  castle  of  the  aii"  of  his  own,  which  he  meant 
to  inhabit  with  Edmee  when  this  troublesome  episode  should 
be  past,  and  he  strove  against  it,  but  it  would  not  be  driven 
away,  and  his  affection  for  his  adopted  child  making  him  un- 
usually clear-sighted,  his  wishes  could  not  long  blind  him  to 
the  perception  that  it  was  for  Alain's  sake  and  not  her  own 
that  she  sought  to  dissolve  the  tie  between  them.  Onco 
admitted,  this  discovery  altered  all  his  views  and  plans,  but 
at  first  he  declined  to  receive  it,  and  virulently  opposed  what- 
ever Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  advanced  during  all  the 
rest  of  the  convei-sation,  piti'ess  of  her  anxieties,  which  were 
really  gi-eat.  She  loved  Edmee,  wished  to  secui-e  her  happi- 
ness, and  pardoned  her  plebeian  origin,  but  could  not  per- 


310  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

suade  herself  that  Alain  would  or  could  accept,  luiless  at  the 
coM  command  of  honour,  a  wife  so  unlike  those  gi"eat  ladies 
Avhom  she  had  been  accustomed  to  look  upon  as  models.  Sho 
thought  of  some  whom  she  had  seen  when  in  Paris  in  former 
days,  with  their  stately  graciousness,  their  airy  talk,  their 
habit  of  society  from  earliest  years,  trained  to  express  by  a 
bend  or  curtsey  exactly  the  shade  of  poUteness  due  to  a 
superior  or  an  equal ;  to  an  inferior  or  to  someone  who  had 
not  '  les  grandes  et  les  petites  entrees  ; '  to  her  who  had  been 
ennobled,  or  to  another  who,  high-born  herself,  had  married  a 
degree  below  her  own  station.  She  recalled  charming  ladies 
who  in  half-a-year  would  spend  seventy  thousand  francs  more 
than  theii'  whole  twelvemonths'  income,  and  would  have 
felt  it  '  l^ourgeois  '  to  think  twice  about  it ;  who  owed  sixty 
thousand  francs  to  theii-  shoemaker,  and  as  much  more  to 
every  one  of  their  other  *  fournisseurs,'  and  smiled  none  the 
less  serenely,  and  received  their  guests  none  the  le?s  gaily. 
Edmee  was  unlike  any  of  these,  who  had  been  the  ideals  of 
what  a  great  lady  should  be,  up  to  the  time  when  the  flood 
came  and  swept  them  all  away.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
would  not  have  wished  to  change  her  in  any  respect,  as  far  as 
she  herself  was  concerned  ;  she  saw  in  her  a  charming,  pure- 
minded  girl,  sweeter,  more  innocent  a  thousand  times  than 
these,  but  when  in  fancy  she  looked  through  Alain's  eyes  she 
gi-ew  critical  and  uneasy,  and  could  not  believe  that  he  would 
be  satisfied.  And,  in  spits  of  the  ordinary  relations  between 
husband  and  wife  in  her  own  rank  which  she  had  only  too 
truly  described,  she  could  not  reconcile  herself  to  a  mere 
mariage  de  convenance  for  Edmee,  nor  divest  herself  of  the 
conviction  that  in  such  a  case  the  gii-1  would  be  boundlessly 
miser-able,  whatever  A  lain  might  be  ;  a  man,  of  course,  would 
find  ways  and  means  of  consoling  himself,  but  v/hat  would 
remain  for  his  wife,  if  that  wife  were  Edmee  ?  and  yet  still 
more  unpleasant  was  the  thought  of  breaking  the  bond  alto- 
gether. Edmee  had  deserved  better  things  at  their  hands 
than  this.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  really  believed  her- 
self a  Liberal,  and  compared  to  most  of  her  class,  was  so,  and 
yet,  unconsciously,  she  thought  that  to  bear  the  name  of  St. 
Aignan  was  a  recompense,  due  indeed,  but  sufiicient,  for  the 
self-devotion  which  Edmee  had  shown  through  all  these  years. 


HOPES  AND  FEARS.  311 

Her  nepliew's  future,  too,  ^^as  a  vast  perplexity  to  her. 
'  How  is  he  to  live  %  Even  if  he  get  the  St.  Aignan  title- 
deed^!  back — aud  I  fully  believe  that  the  child  has  them — he 
is  a  poor  man/  she  would  argue.  '  All  his  mother's  property 
is  completely,  irretrievably  lost  to  us,  and  my  brother  had,  I 
know,  heavy  debts  and  mortgages  on  his  own.  And  suppose 
he  could  return  to  the  chateau,  with  or  without  Edmee,  it 
would  be  an  inexpressibly  thorny  position.' 

*  If  he  have  any  turn  for  art,  he  must  live  by  that,  I  sup- 
pose,' said  M.  Delys,  peevishly,  for  the  idea  of  making  art  a 
mere  profession  by  which  to  gain  money  was  peculiarly  dis- 
tasteful to  him. 

'  But  that  is  out  of  the  question  !  It  would  be  enough  to 
make  his  father  return  from  his  gi-ave  !  Once,  at  St.  Aignan, 
when  by  some  strange  chance  he  visited  the  Chevalier's 
apartment,  and  found  him  painting,  I  well  remember  with 
what  anger  he  flung  the  brushes  and  palette  out  of  the 
window,  exclaiming,  "  When  one  is  called  St.  Aignan,  mon- 
sieur, one  does  not — "  but  it  is  not  worth  repeating,'  she 
added  hastily,  as  she  recollected  that  she  was  speaking  to  an 
artist.  M.  Delys,  however,  was  not  in  the  least  offended. 
The  feeling  which  she  described  was  too  entii-ely  natural 
among  the  noblesse  for  him  to  dream  of  being  annoyed.  He 
took  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

'  I  am  weary  of  it  all,  I  tell  you,'  she  added ;  *  I  shall  go 
next  month  and  visit  my  dear  old  house  at  Morteniart.  I 
am  not  fit  for  Paris  life  ;  I  am  a  provinciale  ;  my  health  is  as 
luipardonably  good  as  if  I  were  a  dame  de  la  halle  ;  I  never 
have  a  headache  or  the  least  touch  of  the  vapeurs  ;  I  am 
only  adapted  for  country  life.  Besides,  I  am  longing  to  see 
how  my  little  property  has  fared  ;  it  seems  ten  years  since  I 
left  Mortemart.     I  shall  make  arrangements  for  going  there.' 

M.  Delys  had  no  objection  to  make.  In  his  heart  he 
wished  her  away,  for  whi'e  she  had  a  wholesome  belief  that 
the  affairs  of  Alain  and  Edmee  were  much  more  likely  to 
right  themselves  if  left  alone,  his  firm  conviction  was  that  the 
best  chance  of  unravelling  this  tangled  skein  lay  in  his  being 
left  to  do  it  unhindered  by  the  advice  or  presence  of  any 
coadj  utor. 


3U  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  But  as  for  my  nephew's  return,*  she  went  on,  impatiently, 
*  I  do  think  it  very  extraordinary  that  you  should  persist  in 
declining  to  use  my  cousin's  influence.  No  one  could  help 
us  so  effectually,  nor  be  more  au  coicrant  of  public  affau's.' 

As  usual  when  she  touched  on  this  subject  M.  Delys  took 
refuge  in  silence  and  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  she  felt  under  too 
gi'eat  obligations  to  him  to  act  dii'ectly  against  his  will, 
though  chafing  at  the  obstacles  imposed  to  her  re-opening 
communications  Avith  De  Pelven,  whom  she  had  ascertained, 
thi'ough  some  of  those  who  frequented  her  sa^on,  to  be  again 
in  Paris.  He  had  quietly  returned,  as  soon  as  immediate 
danger  had  passed,  taking  a  different  lodging,  and  keeping 
himself  out  of  sight,  content  to  withdraw  from  public  afi'airs 
for  a  time,  convinced  that  the  rei.gn  of  the  Dii-ectory  cou'd 
not  last  long,  and  watching  with  great  interest  the  fast-rising 
fortunes  of  Napoleon.  To  such  keen  eyes  the  chances  and 
probabilities  of  the  future  were  already  mapped  out  with 
sufficient  distinctness.  Although  for  the  time  apparently  in- 
actiA-e,  he  was  far  from  unoccupied.  His  employment,  one 
which  had  always  gi-eatly  attracted  him,  was  a  series  of  expe- 
riments on  electricity ;  he  had  considerable  scientific  know- 
ledge, and  had  followed  attentively  that  vast  develoj^ment  of 
science  which  had  mai-ked  the  latter  half  of  the  centiu-y,  and 
contributed  largely,  though  indii-ectly,  to  the  Eevolution. 
Well  aware  of  its  importance,  the  little  company  of  whom  he 
"was  one  looked  down  as  disdainfully  on  the  contemptuous 
Academic  Francaise  as  that  learned  body  did  on  the  Academic 
des  Sciences.  De  Peh^en  was  not  too  much  occupied,  how- 
ever, to  forget  to  be  on  the  alert  for  all  which  could  touch  a 
subject  as  important  to  him  as  ever.  His  desire  to  find 
Edmee  had  Kved  unchanged  during  the  many  months  during 
which  he  had  lost  sight  of  her  ;  if  he  ever,  dui-ing  some  brief 
interval  could  believe  it  dying  out,  some  mere  trifle  was  sure 
to  warn  him  that  it  had  only  slumbered  to  awake  with  nevr 
force.  After  every  measiu-e  to  find  her  failed,  and  altered 
times  lessened  his  means  of  search,  he  owned  himself  not 
baffled,  but  simply  obliged  to  wait  u^ntil  something  or  other 
should  again  put  him  on  the  track.  It  came,  with  the  infor- 
mation given  him  by  someone  whom  he  had  set  to  watch 


HOPES  AND  FEARS.  313 

whether  any  steps  were  taken  in  St.  Aignan's  behalf,  and  tho 
first  warning  that  David  had  applied  to  have  this  name  re- 
moved from  the  list  of  emigres  sent  De  Pelven  to  thank  him 
courteously  for  taking  action  in  his  cousin's  beha'f,  and  enquire 
how   he   came   to  be  interested   in  him.     David,  knowing 
nothing  beyond  the  bare  facts,  answered  that  he  had  been  re- 
quested to  do  so  by  one  of  his  pupils,  and  De  Pelven  trans- 
ferred his  enquiries  to  Balmat,  whose  bkmt  good  sense  was  a 
fair  match  for  his  subtlety,  but  De  Pelven  did  more  than 
extract  the  bare  facts  that  the  young  Swiss  had  received 
kindness  from  Alain,  and  had  heard  of  him  lately  as  wishing 
to  return  to  France ;  he  had  his  outgoings  and  incomings 
watched,  and  dii;:covering  that  he  lived  iu  that  Maison  Crocq 
where  there  was  strong  reason  to  believe  that  Edmee  had 
once  dvrelt  he  felt  sure  that  Ealmat,  not  Isnard,  Avas  the 
man  who  had  saved  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  and  pro- 
tected Edmee.     From  that  moment  Isnard  became  insigni- 
ficant in  his  eyes ;  though  contemptuously  aware  that  he  bad 
vowed  ■\^engeance  against  him  ;  he  had  a  careless,  constitu- 
tional bravery  which  made  such  a  matter  as  this  absolutely 
indifferent  to  Mm,  and  thenceforward  Isnard  might  be  free  or 
not ;  De  Pelven  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  suggest  that  he 
should  be  released,  but  if  his  friends  recollected  to  urge  his 
cause,  he  might  walk  out  of  prison  any  day  now,  since  nothing 
which  he  did  could  greatly  affect  the  problem  which  once 
more  began  to  possess  De  Pelven's  mind.     The  link  which  he 
wanted  was  found,  and  yet  it  was  not  easy  to  discover  more. 
Balmat  seemed  to  have  few  friends ;  he  went  to  no  cafe,  he 
visited  no  women  ;  he  seldom  spent  an  hour  anywhere  except 
in  the   Louvre,  where  none  but  artists  and  their  families 
lived ;    it  was   impossible  therefore  that  Edmee  should  be 
there,  De  Pelven  thought,  for  a  lodging  in  the  Lovivre  had 
always  been  a  great  and  eagerly-sought  favour,  granted  only 
to  eminent  painters  and  engravers. 

The  letters  sent  to  Edmee  had  all  gone  under  cover  to 
Balmat  to  the  Maison  Crocq,  where,  if  anyone  noticed  them, 
they  were  supposed  to  have  come  from  Switzerland.  Do 
Pelven  had  hitherto  desired  Alain's  absence  ;  he  began  now 
to  regard  his  retui-n  as  the  only  means  of  solving  the  mystery 


314  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

of  Edmee's  retreat.  Alain  in  Paris,  Edmee  would  certainly, 
if  De  Pelven  comprehended  her  character  at  all,  show  her 
presence  by  communicating  with  him,  or,  if  she  did  not,  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan  would.  Far  from  opposing  David's 
iniluence  in  favour  of  Alain,  De  Pelven,  weighing  all,  desired 
his  success,  and  wrote  himself  to  Alain  to  tell  him  of  the 
steps  taken  on  his  behalf.  He  had  not  told  it  to  David,  but 
he  knew  well  where  to  find  him.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
that  they  had  had  some  communication.  Long  ere  this  he 
had  convinced  himself  that  Alain  had  had  no  hand  in  the 
Eoyalist  plot  wherein  his  father  bad  been  concerned ;  there 
was  no  deljt  owing  on  that  score,  Imt  until  now  his  absence 
had  seemed  essential  to  De  Pelven,  and  he  had  returned 
answers  to  his  enquiries  which  had  made  the  thought  of  re- 
turning to  France  highly  distasteful  to  Alain.  ISTow,  how- 
ever, the  weariness  of  exile,  howsoever  kind  the  strangers 
amongst  whom  he  lived,  the  desire  to  see  his  country  again, 
and  realise  what  had  really  been  passing  during  those  five 
momentous  years  which  he  had  spent  in  other  lands,  deprived 
of  any  sui-e  sources  of  information,  and  among  those  who, 
seeing  only  the  monstrous  crimes  of  the  Revolution,  and 
knowing  nothing  of  their  causes,  had  even  a  gi'eater  horror  of 
them  than  many  who  had  suffered  personally,  urged  him  to 
accept  the  overtures  made  him,  and  just  about  the  time  that 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignah  had  made  all  arrangements 
for  revisiting  her  beloved  little  property  at  Mortemart,  Alain 
de  St.  Aignan  tui-ned  his  steps  homewards. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

DE    PELVEN    GOES    TO    CHURCH. 


Alain  de  St.  Aignan  had  been  nearly  five  years  absent  from 
that  France  which  htid  forced  emigration  upon  him  as  the  on^y 
alternative  from  death.  He  had  gone  into  exile,  amazed  and 
bewildered  by  the  flood  of  misfortune  which  had  in  a  day,  in  a 
moment,  as  it  seemed,  bereft  him  of  name,  rank,  fortune,  and 


DE  PELVEN  GOES  TO  CHURCH.  315 

family,  besto^vTng  on  him  instead  only  a  bond,  unlooked-for  and 
imdesired,  which  thenceforward  must  clog  his  steps  wherever 
he  moved.  He  came  back  as  a  man  oVler  than  his  years,  one 
Avho  had  seen  the  world,  and  seen  it  with  very  different  eyes 
from  what  he  would  have  done  had  he  remained  a  member  of 
a  privileged  class,  with  a  life  already  shaped  out  for  him.  He 
had  lived  in  other  countries,  watched  the  working  of  other 
governments ;  rude  truths  had  met  his  ear,  and  work  for  daily 
bread,  often  uncertain  and  hard H"  earned,  had  beenfami'iarto 
him.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  what  he  felt  as  he  a2;ain  set 
foot  on  French  soil.  There  was  joy,  there  was  bitterness;  he 
was  once  more  in  his  native  country  ;  but  what  a  new  world 
this  France  seemed  of  which  all  these  years  he  had  known 
nothing  but  through  refugees,  furious  against  the  new  regime, 
or  soldiers  belonging  to  the  army  of  Italy,  whose  acquaintance 
he  had  chanced  to  make,  enthusiastic  admirei-s  of  Napoleon. 
Every  path  once  familiar  to  him  had  been  chancred  ;  he  had 
to  learn  the  new  ones.  His  birth  had  once  placed  him  within 
reach  of  almost  every  social  prize  ;  now  his  name  and  rank 
counted  rather  as  a  misfortune,  if  not  a  crime,  which  society 
held  it  his  duty  to  atone -for  as  for  as  possible.  Fvorvthing 
whic}  once,  as  the  popular  pioverb  had  it,  seemed  '  stable  as  the 
Bastille,'  had,  like  that  very  Bastille,  been  swept  away, 
and  by  a  torrent  of  blood.  Institutions  were  amiilii  atcd, 
families  rooted  out,  or  suiviving  in  but  two  or  three  scattered 
members,  hai-d  y  aware  of  each  other's  existence.  As  far  as  he 
knew  he  was  the  only  surviving  St.  Aignan.  He  came 
sti-aight  to  Paris,  whei-e  he  intended  to  seek  out  De  Pelven, 
before  seeing  anyone  else,  and  here  the  immensity  of  the 
change  first  fully  revealed  itself  to  liim.  Not  only  the  very 
names  of  the  streets,  whether  historical  or  aristocratic,  were 
changed,  but  the  inhabitants  were  even  moi"e  altered.  Where 
were  the  files  of  carriages  galloping  on  tlie  roatl  to  Versailles'! 
Where  was  t-hat  incessant  clamour  of  chuich-I.ie  Is  v/hich  used 
to  mingle  with  those  shouts  of  *  Vive  le  Eoi ! '  which  the 
Parisians  used  to  boast  lasted  from,  dawn  to  dawn?  Whei'C 
were  the  crowds  of  guests  and  supplicants  Hocking  to  the  great 
hotels  of  Choiseul,  Conde,  De  Noailies,  and  a  hundred  morel 
Where  the  ecclesiastics  from  the  bishop  to  the  cure  ]  the  regi- 


316  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

ments  with  their  splendid  officers  passing  throvigh  the  streets, 
and  the  gay  and  brilliant  costumes  where  silver  and  gokl, 
blue,  scarlet  and  peach-colour  mingled  1  All  that  magnifi- 
cent, gay,  frivolous  world  which  used  to  be  known  as  '  all 
Paris '  gone,  and  in  its  stead  a  studied  coarseness  of  manners 
and  costume,  or  a  marked  and  defiant  foppishness.  Had 
Alain  been  less  of  a  stranger  he  would  easily  have  distin- 
guished the  political  opinions  of  those  who  passed  him  in  the 
Streets ;  the  aristocrats  were  unquestionably  gaining  gi-ound 
over  the  Reds,  who  cast  angiy  and  hostile  looks  on  the  huge 
white  cravats  and  love-locks  which  the  young  '  Merveilleiix ' 
had  adopted  as  a  badge  of  theu*  party,  while  the  Royalists 
glanced  with  irritating  and  aggressive  scorn  on  the  rough  or 
classic  costumes,  and  headscropj^eda  la  Brutusof  their  enemies. 
Alain  stood  looking  around  him,  debating  what  he  should  do 
next,  astonished  and  perplexed  by  all  he  saw,  and  marvelling  at 
the  unconcern  with  which  eveiyone  biit  himself  passed  by  spots 
on  which  he  could  scarcely  school  himself  to  look  calmly. 
Under  the  walls  of  the  Tuileries,  over  the  very  .spot  where  the 
guillotine  had  stood,  where  King  and  Queen,  princes,  nobles, 
all  that  was  once  the  pride  of  France  had  peiished,  through 
streets  where  day  after  day  but  a  little  while  ago  the  tum- 
brils had  borne  then*  death-doomed  loads,  the  tide  of  life 
flowed  on,  with  absolute  unconcern,  as  if  these  things  had 
never  been.  He  almost  beieved  himself  dreaming.  The  last 
time  he  had  stood  in  Paris  was  during  the  Reign  of  Ten-or ; 
how  had  everyday  life  so  soon  resumed  its  sway,  that  to  out- 
ward appearance  no  one  recollected  those  days  1  Another 
sign  that  times  were  rapidly  changing  from  what  he  recalled 
soon  showed  itself.  In  the  street  where  he  had  now  made 
his  way  the  passers-by  seemed  all  going  with  a  definite  object 
in  one  direction,  with  an  expectant,  eager  air  which  made  him 
demand  from  a  woman  near  whither  they  were  going.  She 
looked  up  hastily  and  suspiciously  in  his  face,  seemed  reassured 
by  what  she  saw,  and  answered  low,  but  with  a  gi-eat  glad- 
ness in  her  voice,  '  You  are  a  stranger  1  an  exile  perhaps  ? 
You  have  come  at  a  good  moment;  the  Chiu-ch  of  Bonne 
Nouvelle  is  opened  to-day  !  the  fii-st  to  be  re-opened  in  Paris ! 
We  do  not  know  how  the  people  will  take  it,  "but  the  Direc- 


DE  PELVEN  GOES  TO  CHURCH.  317 

toiy  permit  it.  Ah,  dear  Jesus,  to  enter  a  clinrch  again ! 
What  happiness!'  and  wipino- joyful  tears  aAvay  she  hastened 
on,  and  Alaiji,  ninch  surprised  and  moved,  followed  the 
stream  setting  in  the  direction  of  the  church  so  appropriately 
named.  It  was  already  so  crowded  that  he  coud  only  find 
a  place  near  the  doors,  whence  he  could  see  the  throng, 
whose  deep  emotion  told  of  the  great  event  which  the  reopen- 
ing of  a  consecrated  building  was  to  them.  For  nearly  six 
years  no  one  present  had  attended  any  religious  service  in 
such  a  place,  yeai"S  during  which  the  very  name  of  God  was 
proscribed,  when  birth,  man-iage,  and  death  were  alike  un- 
blessed by  any  minister  of  religion,  and  France  had  public^ 
proclaimed  herself  atheist.  The  venerable  priest  who  now 
stood  before  the  altar  was  one  who  in  the  most  imminent 
peril  had  refused  to  leave  his  flock ;  the  hand  Avhich  he  raised  in 
benediction  was  maimed,  and  told  a  tale  of  some  ciiiel  ill-usage ; 
the  white-veiled  gii-ls  kneeling  before  him  had  been  gathered 
in  secresy  and  danger  to  be  prepared  for  the  confirmation 
which,  if  the  mob  allowed  it,  was  to  take  place  the  next  day  ; 
the  sister  of  charity  who  in  the  grey  mornings  had  conducted 
them  to  hLs  hiding-place  had  passed  through  a  thousand 
dangers ;  the  congi-egation  now  met  had  wept,  trembled,  suf- 
fered for  themselves,  their  dear  ones,  their  country,  and  the 
times  were  yet  so  unquiet,  the  sense  of  danger  so  present,  that 
women  held  up  their  little  ones,  exclaiming,  '  Bless  them ; 
let  them  have  a  priest's  l)lessing  whi^e  they  can  ;  it  may  be 
their  only  chance  ! '  and  a  sjanpathetic  thriil  of  tearful  emo- 
tion ran  through  the  crowd,  now  pressing  not  only  in  the 
church,  biit  covering  the  steps,  and  gathering  thickly  in  the 
street  below.  The  mass  of  those  present  were  women,  but 
here  and  there  stood  a  man,  and  one  of  these,  partly  masked 
by  a  pillar,  stood  with  folded  arms  and  a  look  of  such 
absorbed  and  concentrated  watchfulness  that  Alain  had 
noticctl  it  with  interest,  and  a  pereeption  that  here  was  some- 
thing altogether  apart  and  out  of  keeping  with  the  universal 
feeling,  before  recognising  with  much  surprise  the  last  person 
whom  heshouklhave  expected  to  see  in  such  a  place,  and  such 
a  scene.  '  De  Pelven  hei'e !  whom  is  he  seeking  ! '  Alain  was 
asking  himself,  just  as  a  slight  eager  change  passed  over  the 


318  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

pale  face,  as  he  looked  over  the  heads  of  the  kneeling  crowd. 
Evidently  he  had  detected  whatever  he  was  seeking,  and 
Alain's  eye  involuntarily  followed  the  same  cUrection,  but  so 
dense  was  the  throng  that  he  could  not  be  sure  whether  the 
object  of  De  Pelven's  search  was  a  gii-1,  quite  unconscious  of 
observation,  di-essed  in  white,  with  a  blue  fillet  in  her  abun- 
dant, shining  hair,  her  face  bowed  and  hidden  in  her  slender 
hands.  Presently  she  raised  it,  and  there  was  a  toucliing 
look  of  tearful  hope  and  trust,  as  if  a  promise  of  something 
earnestly  besought  had  come  to  her  during  her  prayer.  The 
office  was  concluding ;  De  Pelven  di*ew  a  little  back,  as  much 
out  of  sight  as  the  press  allowed,  and  as  he  did  so  his  eyes  fell 
on  St.  Aignan.  He  started  visibly,  with  discomfiture  almost 
beyond  his  poAver  to  conceal.  '  A  bad  omen,  if  I  believed  iu 
omens— or  anything  else,'  he  murmured  to  himse'f,  while  he 
made  a  slight  sign  of  recognition.  He  did  not  look  aoain 
towards  the  slender  knee'ing  figure  on  which  just  before  his 
ardent  gaze  had  been  fixed,  and  waited  where  he  was  until  the 
congregation  began  to  stream  out  of  the  chm-ch,  with  a  joyfal, 
agitated  buzz  of  voices,  and  he  coukl  approach  Alain,  who  was 
waiting  for  him  on  the  steps,  and  said,  holding  out  his  hand 
with  an  incredulous  smile,  '  Of  all  the  many  siu-prising 
things  which  I  have  encountered  yet,  to  find  you  here  is  the 
most  so.' 

'  I  hoped  to  see  someone  there  of  whom  I  have  lost  sight 
for  some  time,'  answered"  De  Pelven,  cahnly.  '  It  is  a  gi-eat 
day  for  the  women  ! '  and  while  they  took  their  way  to  hi^ 
apartment  he  turned  the  conversation  to  Alain's  own  affairs 
and  prospects  with  interest  unfeigned,  for  he  greatly  desired 
to  understand  them,  though  the  motive  was  one  wiiich  he  did 
not  care  to  mention.  Tliis  meeting  with  a  relation,  after  the 
isolation  of  exile,  and  the  strange  chances  and  changes  of  these 
last  years  woke  in  Alain  a  warmth  and  cordiality  which  under 
any  other  circumstances  he  could  not  possibly  have  felt  for 
De  Pelven.  Tiiey  met  like  survivors  of  a  great  danger  ;  for 
the  time  all  chfferences  of  opinion  and  of  character  vanished  t 
Alain  saw  in  him  nothing  but  tlie  man  who  had  held  out  a 
Land  to  help  him  to  escape,  when  escaping  meant  life,  a;nd 
another  day  on  French  soil  death ;  who  had,  as  he  believed. 


DE  PELVEN  GOES  TO  CHURCH.  319  " 

protected  Maciemoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  to  the  utmost  of  his 
powei-,  and  at  great  personal  risk,  and  who,  as  far  as  he  knew, 
was  the  only  relation  still  remaining  to  him.  They  entered 
the  apai-tment  of  De  Pelven,  and  looked  at  each  other  with  a 
smile  ;  it  seemed  so  long  a  time  since  they  had  met  that  each 
supposed  the  other  must  be  greatly  changed.  It  was  not  so 
altogether ;  the  elder  man  had  not  altered  ;  as  Alain  had  last 
seen  the  pale,  vv'eary  countenance,  so  he  beheld  it  again,  but 
he  himself  looked  much  older  \  there  were  lines  drawn  upright 
on  his  forehead  which  had  been  absent  when  last  they  met, 
and  the  expression  of  the  mouth  was  gi-ave  to  sternness.  De 
Pelven's  face  darkened.  *  A  man  whom  women  would  love,' 
was  his  judgment,  and  then  he  said,  pointing  to  a  seat,  '  So 
you  began  by  joining  the  army  on  the  frontiers'? ' 

'After  my  father's  death — Yes.' 

'  But  you  were  too  aristocratic  1  They  would  not  have 
you  even  in  the  regiment  of  artists  ] ' 

'  It  seems  so — I  stayed  as  long  as  I  could,  and  Hoche,  who 
came  up  one  day  when  I  chanced  to  be  sketching,  proved  a 
good  friend  to  me,  but  after  all  I  was  better  satisfied  to  be 
out  of  it.' 

'  Out  of  the  army  of  defence  !  An  unpatriotic  sentiment, 
mon  cher.' 

'  To  defend  one's  country  would  be  a  pleasanter  business 
if  it  did  not  involve  the  risk  of  killing  one's  best  friend  or 
nearest  relation.  There  were  too  many  Frenchmen  in  the 
Austrian  ranks.' 

*  All  traitors,  you  know ;  only  fit  for  food  for  powder  or 
St.  Guillotine.' 

'  The  end  of  it  was  that  I  found  poor  De  Ferias  wounded 
on  a  field  where  some  six  hundred  of  ours  and  as  many  more 
of  the  enemy  Jay  dead  and  dying,  helped  him  to  escape,  and 
but  for  Hoche  should  have  been  despatched  myself  as  you 
suggest' 

*  What  possessed  you  to  read  liberty  and  fraternity  in  a 
way  not  undei-stood  by  the  natif)n  ! ' 

'  Hoclie  got  me  oft",  but  advised  me  to  leave  the  army,  so 
I  took  up  brush  instead  of  sword,  made  my  way  to  Italy,  and 
was  free  to  be  what  I  had  desii-ed  all  my  life — an  artist.' 


320  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  You  were  not  tempted  to  join  the  army  of  tlie  Princes  ? ' 

'  Ball  !  That  was  a  step  that  I  conld  not  take,  even  to 
please  my  father.' 

'  The  event  proves  you  right.  They  have  not  been  pre- 
cisely a  success.' 

'  How  should  they  !  Good. heavens  !  will  nothing  teach 
people  to  read  the  signs  of  the  times  %  Do  you  know  that  in 
that  absurd  army  all  the  old  etiquette  was  as  far  as  possible 
strictly  maintained,  and  that  the  volunteers  who  were  not 
nobles — the  very  men  who  sacrificed  most,  Avere  most  abso- 
lutely loyal ,  were  ordered  to  form  a  regiment  apart,  so  as  not 
to  contaminate  the  well-born,  and  to  wear  a  grey  uniform 
instead  of  royal  blue  !  Is  it  wonderful  that  the  soldiers  of  the 
Republic  proved  invincible  1 ' 

De  Pelven  gave  his  lov/,  ironical  laugh.  *  There  are  some 
lessons  which  royal  birth  incapacitates  men  from  learning.' 

'  Lessons  have  come  thick  and  fast,  biit  there  has  scarcely 
been  time  to  learn  them — one  stands  bewildered.' 

'  You  recollect  what  Turgot  said  to  the  King  when  laying 
before  him  a  plan  of  general  education — "  Sii-e,  in  ten  years 
the  nation  will  be  so  altered  that  no  one  will  know  it !  "  He 
spoke  more  truly  than  he  knew,  only  he  had  not  exactly 
foreseen  what  the  change  would  be.  If  he  could  return  he 
would  feel  like  a  shepherd,  who  after  a  nap  awakes  to  find 
his  sheep  turned  into  wolves.  And  then — let  me  see — you 
fe  1  in  Avith  a  rich  native  of  perfidious  Albion,  travelled  with 
him,  developing  the  barbarian's  taste  for  art ;  he  bought  your 
sketches,  believed  in  your  genius,  finally  took  you  to  England. 
But  do  you  mean  that  anyone  else  is  equally  deluded  ?  that 
you  sell  your  paintings  1 ' 

*  Even  so,'  answered  Alain,  laughing  at  the  ail*  of  aston- 
ishment assumed  by  his  cousin. 

'  It  was  said  that  you  weie  one  of  the  train  of  the  Mes- 
dames  Adelaide  and  Victoire.' 

*  No  ;  I  paid  my  respects  to  the  Princesses,  when  in  Borne, 
as  a  matter  of  duty,  but  that  little  Court  of  theirs  would  not 
have  suited  me.  I  might  have  made  some  blunder  as  fatal  as 
poor  Rousard,  a  young  artist  who  was  a  protege  of  theirs, 
and  nearly  sent  them  into  a  fit  by  appearing  in  what  to  their 


DE  PEL  YEN  GOES  TO  CHURCH.  321 

eyes  was  a  tri-colour  scarf,  in  Ms  a  cravat  of  most  harmonious 
colours,  bought  at  a  country  fair.' 

'  Hum  !  Between  ourselves,  what  are  your  intentions  ] 
Your  moderate  Republicanism  will  not  answer ;  moderates 
always  get  crushed  between  the  millstones  of  extreme  parties. 
What  do  you  mean  to  do  when  the  right  time  comes  1 ' 

'  Do  !  What  remanis  for  the  man  who  is  unfortunate 
enough  not  to  be  able  to  hold  extreme  opinions  %  Even  if  I 
were  a  Royalist  I  am  bound  by  the  pledges  which  I  gave  on 
returning  to  France.' 

'  Bonds  which  sit  lightly  enough  on  a  good  many  who  have 
returned.  As  for  me,  I  have  serious  thought  of  tiirning  Royalist. 
I  v/ant  a  new  sensation.  I  have  had  enough  of  democrats, 
and  now  I  begin  to  fear  that  I  shall  vegetate  as  I  did  before 
the  Revolution  broke  out.  How  I  blessed  it !  Plots  amuse 
me,  if  they  are  complicated  enough,  and  the  best  now  going 
on  arc  among  the  Royalists.' 

'  You  have  other  amusements,  it  would  seem,'  said  Alain, 
uncertain  whether  he  spoke  in  jest  or  earnest,  and  not  de- 
sirous to  know,  and  he  took  up  a  treatise  by  Duplay,  lying 
open  on  the  table. 

'  Oh  .  .  .'  said  De  Pelven,  with  mock  deprecation.  '  Amuse- 
ments, yes,  that  is  the  right  word.  You  recollect  how  Maury 
reminded  us  poor  men  of  science  that  the  mathematician  and 
chemist  are  only  known  to  a  mere  handful  of  pedants,  while 
authors  and  orators  like  himself  speak  to  the  universe.  It  was 
Maury,  too,  who  observed  that  the  members  of  the  Academy 
looked  on  us  as  merely  their  valets.' 

A  silence  fell  on  them  ;  all  this  time  each  had  had  a  certain 
thought  uppermost  in  his  mind,  and  hesitated  to  vitter  it.  St. 
Aignan  now  asked  abruptly,  '  So  you  know  notliing  of  my 
aimtr 

*  Nothinc;,  since,  as  I  told  you,  she  disappeared  inexplic- 
ably from  the  I'cfugc  which  I  had  found  her.' 

'  She  may  have  escaped  and  returned  to  Mortemart.  The 
little  property  there  was  her  own,  and  she  was  very  fond  of  it.' 

'  No.  I  went  down  there  lately — some  little  time  back, 
I  mean,  but  nothing  had  been  heard  of  her,  and  now  the 
property  is  in  other  hands.  I  heard  of  its  being  sold  not  long 
since.' 


323  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


'And  .  .  .  tliatgii-1?' 


De  Pelven  shrufro-ed  Ms  shoulders. 

'  Then  absohitely  you  know  nothing  of  her  fate  % ' 

'  Mon  cher,  I  have  a  fail-  guess  at  it,  since,  as  I  sent  you 
word,  I  saw  her  some  time  after  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
was  re-arrested — her  fate  could  have  been  no  other — walking 
with  a  young  fellow  wT.th  whom  she  seemed  on  the  best  of 
terms.  What  could  you  expect  1  A  girl  who  did  not  even 
love  you,  it  seems — ' 

'  How  should  she  1  I  told  you  the  cu'cumstances  of  our 
marriage.' 

'  Well,  can  you  suppose  that  all  these  years  she  would 
love  no  one  else  ?  My  dear  cousin,  you  are  idyllic  !  How 
should  she  know  you  would  ever  retiu-n  ]  Peste  !  What 
did  you  expect  ? ' 

'  It  is  useless  now  to  tell  you,'  answered  Alain,  gloomily, 
De  Pelven  watched  him,  seeking  to  divine  the  course  of  his 
thoughts,  too  deeply  interested  in  the  matter  himself  to  be 
able  to  study  the  workiaig  of  Alain's  mind  with  his  usual 
discernment. 

'  Wlien  I  left  France  my  marriage  seemed  a  soi-t  of 
doubtful  di-eam,'  said  Alain,  passing  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 
*  Then ' 

*  You  forgot  all  about  it,  just  as  the  demoiselle  did,' 
laughed  De  Pelven. 

'  I  might  have  done  so.  As  it  was  cii-cumstances  made 
it  suddenly  a  fact  to  me.     Youi'  letter  shipwrecked  my  hopes.' 

Again  De  Pelven  shi-ugged  his  shoulders  and  spread  out 
his  hands. 

'  I  had  supposed  my  aunt  could  take  care  of  my  wife  for 
me,  but  it  seems  she  had  not  been  arrested  when  the  gii'l  dis- 
appeared ] ' 

'  That  good  aimt !  You  chose  an  admirable  giTardian  ! 
She  was  completely  deceived  by  her,  but  then  she  is  so 
easily  deceived  that  she  beheves  even  in  me,  your  poor 
cousin.' 

'  You  have  no  suspicion  who  the  man  was  1 ' 

'  None ;  he  looked  well-born  enough ;  she  had  the  good 
taste  not  to  desert  you  for  a  roturier,  I  fancy.' 


DE  PELVEN  GOES  TO  CHURCIL  323 

Silence  again  fell  on  them  ;  De  Pelven  was  seeemg  to 
gatlier  tlie  broken  and  entangled  skeins  of  his  p^ans  and 
wishes,  which  were  much  entangled  by  the  ret^U'n  of  Alain 
sooner  than  he  had  anticipated  ;  something  had  been  done  in 
deepening  the  prejudice  against  Edmee,  which  he  had  already 
created,  but  a  few  words  from  Balmat,  a  meeting  with 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  might  undo  his  work.  He 
had  often  been  marvellously  served  by  the  chapter  of  acci- 
dents ;  on  the  whole  he  had  reason  to  expect  it  would  tiu-n  in 
his  favour,  but  he  found  himself  much  less  master  of  the 
situation  than  usual,  and  that  at  a  time  all  important  to  him. 
His  chief  hope  lay  in  Edmee's  pride  ;  he  thought  she  would 
avoid  a  personal  interview,  and  merely  signify  by  writing  that 
Alain  was  free  if  he  wished  it,  and  that  he  would  at  once 
close  with  the  sutjoestion  De  Pelven  could  not  now  doubt.  No- 
thing  but  honour  could  ever  have  induced  him  to  reclaim  the 
bride,  whose  white,  imploriug  face  of  reluctance  and  terror 
was  all  which  he  could  recall  of  her,  and  even  that  had  be- 
come a  dim  memory.  And  yet  De  Pelven  felt  a  strange 
regret  that  he  had  blackened  her  fair  fame,  and  hated  Alain 
all  the  more  for  being  the  cause  that  he  had  done  so, 

'  Divorces  are  in  fashion  just  now,'  he  suggested. 

*  They  are  .  .  .  fortunately,'  answered  Alain,  briefly. 
He  could  not  lay  bare  his  feelings  to  De  Pelven,  who  was 
studying  him  with  cold  and  curious  eyes.  Inheriting  the 
strong  desire  for  domestic  life  which  had  characterised  his 
mother,  and  made  her,  in  the  height  of  youth  and  beauty, 
leave  Paris  to  seclude  herself  with  her  boy  at  St.  Aignan,  he 
had  Hved  enough  after  her  death  in  the  fashionable  world  to 
know  the  hollow  thing  which  marriage  usually  was,  and  had 
seen  one  or  two  happy  exceptions  which  also  showed  him 
what  it  might  be.  In  those  days  everyone  had  a  system,  a 
theory,  or  an  ideal.  Alain  had  his,  cherished,  unguessed ; 
he  believed  in  love  ia  married  life.  While  the  gay  world 
thought  it  hourgeois,  and  the  materialists  explained  it  away 
in  a  fashion  different  but  as  complete,  Alain  dreamed  of  a 
wife  who  shotdd  not  be  the  fancy  of  a  day,  or  the  mere  sharer 
of  his  name  and  rank,  but  a  companion  and  fri(>nd,  growing 
dearer  as  the  years  went  on,  and  many  joys  and  sorrows  had 


324  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

been  shared  between  them.  This  was  what  Alain  gained 
from  the  theories  of  family  life  and  natural  affections  which 
were  floating  about  in  his  boyhood,  and  working  for  good  and 
ill  in  many  different  ways  which  Exjusseau  never  dreamed  of, 
and  the  di-cam  had  been  very  sweet.  There  had  been  a  day 
when  it  had  fleeted  into  the  bacligi-ound,  but  a  sharp  lesson 
had  been  read  which  he  tooiv  home,  and  profited  by,  and 
again  the  former  vision  reigned,  only  now  with  more  power 
and  a  hope  that  a  girl  who  could  act  as  Edmee  had  done 
might  reahse  his  ideal.  The  answer  sent  by  De  Pelven  to 
the  fii-st  letter  which  he  could  safely  write  to  him  dashed  this 
castle  in  the  air  rude'y  to  the  ground.  The  bitterness  whicli 
had  overwhelmed  him  wlien  he  first  read  it  came  upon  him 
afresh  now  that  he  heard  spoken  what  he  had  already  learned 
from  the  wi'itten  words. 

'  I  did  what  I  could,  as  your  heart  seemed  in  the  matter,* 
said  De  Pelven,  careles.sly.  '  I  ascertained  that  nothing  was 
known  of  the  gud  at  St.  Aignan.  Apropos  of  that — do  you 
mean  to  take  any  steps  for  recovering  that  property  ] ' 

'  What  would  be  the  use  ?  I  have  no  title  to  show  to  it, 
and  if  I  had,  I  would  not  live  there  for  many  reasons.  That 
business  of  my  marriage — and  besides,  the  peasantry  would 
look  on  me  as  an  enemy.  For  many  a  year  to  come  they 
will  hold  every  aristocrat  their  enemy.  They  have  a  thou- 
sand years  of  slavery  to  sremember.' 

'  If  you  remain  in  Paris,  recollect  that  my  rooms  are  at 
your  sei-vice.' 

Alain  thanked  him  and  accepted,  for  a  time  at  all  events. 
Reluctantly  enough  he  rose  to  visit  David,  and  thank  him  for 
the  steps  which  he  had  taken  in  his  behalf.  De  Pelven  saw 
him  go  with  no  Httle  anxiety  as  to  what  he  shoidd  hear  on 
his  return,  and  a  poignant  regret  that  neither  httres  de 
cachet  nor  secret  pohce  still  existed,  by  whose  means  he 
might  have  spuited  Balmat  out  of  the  way.  In  Balmat  he 
recognised  the  most  dangerous  point  of  the  whole  affair. 


A  MEETING  IN  TEE  ATELIER.  325 

CHAPTEE  XXXYII. 

A    MEETING    IN   THE    ATELIER. 

Alain's  visit  to  David  was  not  paid  that  day.  He  wanted 
solitude,  time  to  understand  his  position,  to  p!an  his  f  utixi-e, 
to  comjDrehend  the  world  in  which  he  found  himself — wanted, 
too,  to  escape  from  what  he  felt  instinctively  to  be  the  hostile 
scrutiny  of  De  Pelven,  towards  whom  his  old  misti-ust  began 
to  awake,  though  all  his  cousia's  acts  had,  as  far  as  he  knew, 
been  uniformly  friendly,  and  he  received  the  information 
given  him  without  questioning  its  truth.  The  next  day  he  took 
a  portfolio  of  oil  sketches,  and  sought  Balmat  at  the  Maison 
Crocq,  where  he  himself  had  been  lodged  during  the  brief, 
perilous  visit  to  Paris  which  he  had  made  between  joining 
the  army  of  defence  and  his  father's  death,  but  found  that 
he  was  at  the  atelier  ia  the  Louvre.  Alain  turned  his  steps 
thither  to  find  him.  The  atelier  used  by  David's  students 
was  just  below  that  known  as  '  Les  Horaces,'  from  the  cele- 
brated picture  painted  there  by  David,  who  had  since  aban- 
doned it  for  one  in  the' top  story  of  the  Louvre,  and  installed 
two  of  his  best  pupils  in  it.  The  silence  and  order  reigning 
in  the  students'  atelier  astonished  Alain  not  a  little ;  the 
forty  or  fifty  lads  and  men  who  occupied  it  were  all  hard  at 
work,  sitting  or  standing,  those  nearest  the  door  copying 
fi-om  casts,  another  more  advanced  set  were  painting  at  their 
easels  on  the  left,  and  ranged  in  a  semicii-cle  about  a  low, 
large  scaflTold,  on  which  stood  a  live  model,  were  a  third 
division,  studying  from  life.  Only  one  voice  br©ke  the  still- 
ness, a  harsh,  rasping  voice,  yet  with  considerable  kindliness 
in  it,  which  seemed  criticising  and  laying  down  doctrines,  as 
the  speaker  moved  from  easel  to  easel,  listened  to  with 
respectful  attention.  Even  the  pupils  nearest  the  door  had 
only  cast  a  rapid  glance  towards  Alain  as  he  entered,  and 
then  resumed  their  work,  anxious  to  gain  an  approving  word 
from  theii-  master,  who  was  making  a  tour  of  inspection 
among  them.     Alain  understood  it  immediately,  and  stood 


G2G  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

•waiting  until  the  progi-ess  of  the  tournee  should  bring  David 
towards  him.  '  Good,  A^ery  good;  go  on,  Maurice,'  Alain 
heai'd  him  say,  as  he  reached  the  easel  of  Mamice  Qnai ;  and 
turning  to  the  others,  he  added,  '  There  is  one  who  will  do 
great  things  if  he  chooses  ;  he  loves  nature  and  understands 
the  antique,'  and  he  passed  to  the  next,  leaving  Maurice 
colouring  with  pleasure  all  over  his  thin,  bearded  face,  while 
some  of  his  companions  murmured  laughingly,  *  A  victory 
for  you  to-day,  old  Don  Quixote ! '  by  ^diich  name  the  en- 
thusiastic artist  was  known  in  the  atelier.  The  next  was 
less  fortunate.  He  was  painting  with  such  ardour  that  he 
did  not  perceive  the  master  standing  beside  him  until  David 
clapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  exclaiming,  *  Cannot  you  wait 
u  moment,  Vincent !  the  first  thing  that  you,  and  you,  and 
you,'  pointing  to  several  others,  '  have  to  do  is  to  forget  every- 
thing you  learned  before  you  came  here.  You  are  all  of  you 
infected  by  the  Academical  mania.  When  pictures  are  made 
where  there  are  no  heads,  no  hands,  no  feet,  you  will  beat  us 
all !  Gent'.emen,  the  Academy  teaches  art  as  a  profession ; 
make  it  such  if  you  like,  but  here  we  study  art  for  ai-t — 
Monsieur  !  '  as  he  suddenly  perceived  St.  Aignan,  '  I  fear  you 
have  been  waiting  some  time  1  May  I  ask  to  whom  I  have 
the  honour'  to  speak  ] ' 

'  I  have  every  reason  to  be  delighted  with  the  delay, 
since  it  has  enabled  me  to  hear  Louis  Da^dd  give  a  lesson  on 
the  art  in  which  he  is  so  gi-eat  a  master,'  said  Alain,  bowing. 
*  I  vvas  on  my  way  to  ofier  you  my  thanks  for  all  which  you 
have  done  on  my  behalf;  but  I  came  here  to  seek  a  friend — 
whom  I  see  yonder.  Balmat !  we  meet  again,  thanks  to  you 
and  to  M.  David.' 

Balmat  had  hurried  from  his  place  at  the  sound  of  St. 
Aignan's  voice ;  until  then  he  had  been  too  much  absorbed 
in  folloAving  the  master's  remarks  to  see  or  hear  anything  else. 

'  How  !  M.  de  St.  Aignan  ! '  said  David,  looking  with 
manifest  approval  on  Alain,  '  I  hope  you  intend  to  pay  me  a 
visit  too  1  Perhaps  I  have  something  not  without  interest 
to  show  you.  I  am  going  to  my  atelier  now,  the  Atelier  de3 
Sabines — if  you  care  to  accompany  me — and  you  too,  Balmat.' 

They  bowed  and  followed  him,  exchanging  a  few  cordial 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  ATELIER.  327 

words  as  they  did  so.  David  hiimed  up  the  stairs  leading 
to  his  attic  before  them ;  he  had  an  nndisgixised  vanity  and 
desire  for  approbation  rather  childlike  than  childish,  and  made 
no  attempt  to  conceal  the  eagerness  with  which  he  awaited 
Alain's  apj)roval,  pointing  out  whatever  he  considered  called 
for  inost  praise,  and  claiming  his  assent  with  naive  frankness. 

*  I  have  undertaken  to  do  a  thing  absolutely  new,'  he  said, 
*  I  am  leading  art  back  to  Greek  principles.  Wben  I  painted 
my  Horaces  and  my  Brutus,  I  was  still  under  the  influence  of 
Roman  art.  But  after  all,  what  were  the  Romans  to  the 
Greeks  in  such  matters  ?■  Bai-barians  !  novices  !  My  aim  is 
now  pure  Greek  art ;  I  think,  as  the  Hellenes  did,  that  form 
is  all  important ;  the  original  idea  is  of  far  les'^  weight  than 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  rendered.  Ah,  ah !  my  Sabines 
will  astonish  a  good  many  people  ;  is  it  not  so,  monsieur  ? ' 

St.  Aignan  stood  contemplating  the  famous  picture  with 
sincere  admiration  for  the  fine  drawing,  but  with  great  dig- 
appointment  in  the  colouring,  and  a  perception  that  no  miracle 
would  ever  breathe  life  into  the  coldly  correct  groups.  For- 
tunately David  was  too  eager  to  discuss  the  question  whether 
there  should  be  bits  in  the  horses'  mouths  or  not,  and  the 
advisability  of  undraped'  figures,  to  perceive  the  shade  of  cold- 
ness in  his  praise,  and  had  besides  much  to  say  about  tlie 
schools  of  Italian  painting,  surprising  his  listenei-s  by  the 
warmth  and  reverence  with  which  he  alluded  to  those  old 
masters  whom  his  pupils  so  great' y  disdained,  and  whcse 
example  he  himself  was  so  far  from  following.  Balmat's 
interest  in  the  conversation  was  much  lessened  by  his  thoughts 
being  full  of  Edmee.  He  would  have  given  much  could  he 
have  contrived  to  warn  her  how  near  Alain  was,  but  it  was 
impossible,  and  after  all,  perhaps,  so  best.  Ealmat  had  no 
great  belief  in  any  good  coming  out  of  interference  with  other 
people's  affairs,  and  therefore,  when  Alain  took  leave  of 
David,  he  declined  to  accompany  him  to  the  Atelier  du  Lys, 
whither  he  took  his  way,  having  learned  from  Balmat  that 
M.  Delys,  an  old  friend  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  had 
been  the  moving  spring  in  enabling  him  to  return.  His  art 
was  so  supremely  interesting  to  him  that  this  visit  to  the 
Louvre,  and  the  conversation  with  David,  had  banished  all 


328  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

other  thoiiglits  for  the  time ;  he  would  willingly  have  made 
a  toiir  among  all  the  other  studios  in  the  Louvre,  and  hia 
surprise  and  pleasure  were  gi-eat  on  learning  his  return  to 
hav'e  been  effected  through  the  old  painter,  whom  he  re- 
membered with  the  affectionate  amusement  which  M.  Delys 
awoke  in  all  his  acquaintance.  Balmat  returned  to  his  easel, 
his  disquiet  unguessed ;  Alain  entered  the  Atelier  du  Lys. 
As  he  did  so,  Edmee  paused  in  reading  aloud  a  poem  of 
Ossian  to  M.  Delys,  who  was  as  enthusiastic  on  that  score  as 
any  of  the  younger  ai-tists.  She  looked  more  than  ever  like 
one  of  the  white-armed  daughters  of  Fingal,'  as  she  sat  with 
the  sunlight  on  her  hau\  For  the  moment  the  haunting 
expectation  of  Alain's  return  had  left  her,  she  was  totally 
un{)repared  for  it,  and  it  was  only  the  sound  of  his  voice,  as 
he  named  himself,  and  the  agitation  of  M.  Delys  which  warned 
her  that  the  moment  so  looked  for,  so  feared,  had  come. 
The  book  fell  from  her  hand  ;  he  advanced  and  gave  it  back 
to  lier  with  a  bow,  then  continued  to  speak  to  M.  Delys,  who 
was  so  moved,  so  confused  by  the  thought  of  Edmee,  the 
sight  of  St.  Aignan,  and  his  own  feelings  that  he  was  saying 
he  knew  not  what^  and  making  all  kinds  of  incoherent  state- 
ments. Theii"  voices  seemed  to  come  muffled  to  the  ear  of 
Edmee,  who  had  let  herself  sink  on  a  seat,  terrified  by  hej- 
own  sensations;  the  beating  of  her  heart  seemed  stifling  hei, 
and  she  gathered  with  gi-eat  relief  that  she  was  luirecognised. 
Presently  she  heard  M.  Delys  exclaim  with  a  tone  of  great 
pleasure,  '  Ah,  Monsieiu-  le  Comte  !  you  are  very  like  yoiu' 
mother  !  Yes,  wonderfully  like  ; '  and  ventm-ing  to  look  at 
him,  Edmee  saw  the  smile  which  illuminated  Alain's  face, 
and  made  M.  Delys  repeat,  '  Her  image  !  what  happiness  to 
see  you  here,  safe,  well.' — All  his  objections  to  Alain  had  been 
blown  away  by  that  look  of  Madame  de  St.  Aignan  v.^hich 
Edmee  too  recognised  at  once,  wondering  that  she  had  not 
seen  it  when  they  were  together  on  that  eventful  riight,  but 
then  he  had  probably  looked  as  unlike  what  he  did  now  as 
she  did  to  that  bride  whose  face  he  had  scarcely  seen.  She 
coidd  hardly  beKeve  that  this  was  the  Alain  of  that  time, 
and  as  for  making  herself  known,  some  better  moment  must 
be  found ;    at  present  it  was  simply  impossible.     M.  Delys 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  ATELIER.  329 

was  asking  details  of  bis  retiu'ii,  and  his  plans,  and  he  began 
to  describe  his  life  in  Italy  and  England,  where  he  had  found 
a  fine  school  of  landscape-painting  of  which  M.  Delys  had 
never  before  heard,  and  concerning  which  he  remained  very 
incredidous.  '  England  !  England  !  Do  not  talk  to  me  ol'  it,' 
he  exclaimed.  'All  our  misfortunes  come  from  doctrines  sent 
us  from  England,  where  they  know  better  than  to  practise 
them.  I  hate  the  name  of  England  !  They  have  no  flower- 
painters  there,  I  feel  sure  1  No  !  And  deservedly ;  did  they 
not  let  Giovanni  da  Fiori  die  in  a  gan-et,  of  poverty  and 
neglect,  in  the  1 7th  century  1 '  Alain  laughed,  and  went  to 
study  the  pauiting  on  M.  Delys'  easel,  tm-ning  thence  to  that 
on  Edmee's. 

*  This  is  not  done  by  you,'  he  said,  looking  at  it  with 
interest.     '  No  doubt — '  and  he  glanced  towards  her. 

'Yes,  my  daughter's ;  have  I  not  a  right  to  be  proud  of 
my  pupil  ] '  said  M.  Delys,  nervously  anxious  to  avoid  an 
explanation. 

'  I  have  never  seen  any  better  done ;  those  of  Rachel 
Keusch  hei-self  do  not  surpass  them.' 

'  There  are  certain  flowers  v/hich  she  paints  better  than  I 
do  myself,'  said  M.  Delys,  delighted  with  the  approbation ; 
'  look  at  those  campanulas — they  seem  trembling  in  the  wind. 
But  you — show  me  what  you  have  there ;  Balmat,  our  good 
Swiss,  tells  me  you  paint  landscape.  Then,  of  coui-se,  you  are 
of  Vernet's  school  1 ' 

'  You  shall  see,'  said  Alain,  opening  his  portfolio.  David 
had  been  too  much  occupied  with  displaying  his  own  works 
to  notice  it,  but  M.  Delys  spied  it  out  immediately.  Edmee 
rose,  and  removed  her  own  canvas  to  make  room  for  his.  He 
thanked  her,  giving  a  momentary  glance,  withdrawn  at  once, 
as  she  changed  colour,  and  seemed  to  shrink  from  observation. 
He  began  to  get  a  little  curious  to  hear  her  voice,  for  she  had 
not  spoken  a  word  since  he  came  in. 

'  Decidedly  you  do  not  follow  Quai,  who  m'ges  his  friends 
to  paint  nothing  under  six  feet  high,  and  .  ,  ,  But  what  is 
this  1 '  exclaimed  M.  Delys,  aghast,  '  this  belongs  to  no  school ; 
it  is  not  painting ;  it  is  unheard  of — flat  heresy,  revolu- 
tionary, monsieur  !     What  can  be  the  meaning  of  breaking 


330  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

witla  all  ti-aditions  of  French  art  T     And  then,  after  a  lonj? 
pause — '  Eut  it  is  beautiful.     Yes,  beautiful,  is  it  not,  ma 

fill'  1 ' 

It  was  a  view  in  southern  Italy.  The  sun  had  set,  but 
the  sky  was  still  ablaze,  and  distant  hills  seemed  to  quiver 
and  melt  into  the  glorious  splendour.  The  light  had  left  the 
foregiound,  occupied  by  a  dark  marsh  ;  a  solitary  heron  was 
fishing  by  a  pool,  round  which  tall  reeds  raised  their  feathery 
plumes.  *  The  solitude  was  so  profound  that  Edmee  held  her 
breath  as  she  looked. 

'Where  have  you  leamed  to  paint  like  thisl'  a^sked 
;M.  Delys,  at  last,  recovering  fi-om  hi.s  surprise.  '  It  is  neither 
Yernet's  style,  nor  Loutherlx)urg's  ...  it  sins  against  all 
custom  .  .  .  those  reeds  are  reeds,  and  that  is  a  heron ;  now 
the  old  rule  was  that  it  was  bad  taste  to  make  trees  or 
foliage  or  birds  belong  to  any  exact  tribe  ;  the  general  effect 
alone  should  be  given.     What  master  have  you  followed  ? ' 

'  A  mistres.s — ^Nature  herself,'  said  Alain,  with  a  smile. 
*  But  I  worked  hard  for  years  before  I  was  free  to  make  art 
niv  business — I  believe  now  that  I  prospei-ed  the  better  for 
the  difliculties  and  discouragements  I  met  with — not  few  ! ' 

*  It  is  not  a  composition]  Y^'ou  saw  it  under  this  sunset  1 
Yes,  yes,  I  feel  it  Avas  so  ;  I  never  agreed  with  Diderot—  a 
master  in  art  criticism  however !  who  used  to  say  that  one 
could  imagine  in  one's  atelier  fiir  more  beautiful  scenes  than 
any  which  nature  offers,  because  there  one  could  aiTange 
everything  as  one  thought  best,  })ut  still  it  is  absolute  here.sy 
to  paint  thus,  is  it  not,  my  daughter  1 ' 

'  I  do  not  know  if  it  be  heresy,  but  it  certainly  is  a  poem,' 
answered  Edmee,  to  whom  the  sketch  had  been  a  revelation. 
Alain  turned  quickly  towards  her ;  something  in  the  sweet 
voice  sti-uck  him;  he  only  saw  a  gi-aceful,  brown-eyed  girl, 
who  seemed  confused  by  has  sudden  movement.  jSTothing  in 
her  recalled  his  terrified,  shame-stricken  bride,  but  he  said 
smiling,  *  It  is  not  the  first  time  that  we  have  met,  mademoi- 
selle ' — and  then,  much  siu-prised  by  her  evident  emotion,  he 
hastened  to  add,  '  I  too  was  in  the  chm-ch  of  Bonne  Nouveile 
this  morning ' — and  he  could  not  resist  adding,  '  where  [  also 
met  a  relation  of  mine — M.  de  Pelven.' 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  ATELIER.  331 

*  Was  he  there,  monsieur  ! '  said  Edmee,  scarcely  reassured 
by  finding  that  she  was  still  unknown  when  new  cause  for 
alarm  came  upon  her. 

*  Has  he  the  good  fortune  to  be  a  friend  of  you.r  father's  ] ' 

*  No,  monsieur,  our  enemy.' 

She  spoke  low,  but  with  concentrated  feeling.  St.  Aignan 
could  ask  no  more,  and  M.  Delys,  still  occupied  by  the  sketch, 
interrupted- — '  So  you  did  it  from  nature  1  On  the  spot  ?  Ma 
foi,  I  could  believe  I  had  been  there  myself !  What  do  you 
think  of  it,  my  child  ? ' 

'  I  think  that  it  tells  both  what  the  scene  was,  and  what 
the  artist  felt,'  answered  Edmee,  raising  her  eyes  for  an 
instant  to  the  face  of  Alain,  who  thanked  her  with  a  smile. 

'  You  pay  me  a  high  compliment,  mademoiselle,'  he  said, 
*  for  tq  paint  what  he  sees,  and  to  make  the  spectator  enter 
into  what  he  felt  are  the  artist's  two  gi'eat  aims.' 

'  But,  my  dear  count — let  me  give  you  your  title — it  tickles 
my  ear  agreeably — you  will  not  sell  your  pictiu-es,'  said 
M.  Delys. 

'  You  think  so  1 ' 

*  I  am  certain  of  it.  The  French  love  what  they  call 
novelty,  but  in  their  hearts  they  detest  anj^thing  original. 
They  require  time  to  get  reconciled  to  anything  new  in  art ; 
they  have  now  got  used  to  our  landscape-painters.  You 
want  to  strike  out  a  new  route  ;  they  will  simply  feel  ill- 
used,  a  good  beat-en  road  is  so  safe  ! ' 

'  Then  I  shall  sell  my  pictures  to  the  English.' 

*  Hush  !  hush  !  that  is  treason.  You  might  as  well 
shave  with  English  razors.  You,  just  retiu-ned,  talking  about 
our  national  enemies  ! ' 

'  What,  not  to  biing  their  money  into  France  1 ' 

*  That  might  possibly  excuse  your  commerce  with  them. 
But  I  must  sit  down ;  I  want  to  consider  your  sketches  at  my 
ease.     Have  you  painted  nothing  but  landscapes  1 ' 

'  Portraits  sometimes.     I  had  to  Kve,  you  know.' 

*  Brown  Italians,  blonde  Englishwomen  .  .  .  Apropos, 
my  dear  count,'  said  M.  Delys,  who  had  quite  a  feminine  love 
of  hovering  round  a  dangerous  subject,  '  I  suppose  you  have 
not  got  married  ? ' 


333  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  I  have  no  wife,'  returned  Alain  veiy  briefly,  and  with 
dai'kening  face. 

'  All  in  good  time,'  said  M.  Delys,  so  mnch  taken  aback 
that  he  hardly  knew  what  he  was  saying.  Edmee,  at  whom 
he  looked  with  penitent  apology,  showed  no  emotion  ;  she  sat 
quite  still,  feeling  as  if  a  sudden  blow  had  stunned  her.  She 
knew  that  Alain  had  changed  the  subject,  and  that  M.  De^ys 
had  eagerly  joined  in ;  the  moments  went  by  ;  she  rose  quietly 
and  went  out,  thanking  St.  Aignan,  who  had  opened  the  door 
for  her,  by  a  silent  bend  of  the  head.  He  retvirned  to  the  old 
painter,  '  I  congi-atulate  you  on  the  skill  of  mademoiselle  your 
daughter.' 

'  You  are  very  good  .  .  .  poor  child,'  stammered  M.  Delys, 
much  embarrassed.  '  But  I  ought  to  tell  you — '  he  stopped, 
without  any  idea  of  what  he  was  going  to  say. 

'  Perhaps  I  should  have  said  madame  instead  of  mademoi- 
selle ? ' 

*  Just  so — yes.     Madame  Alain.' 

'  Ah  ! '  Alain  was  a  common  Norman  name,  and  awoke 
no  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  St.  Aignan,  to  whom  this  girl 
was  merely  the  daughter  of  M.  Delys.  *  And  your  son-in- 
law  is  an  artist  too  1 ' 

'  Yes— that  is — she  has  no  husband.  She  is  in  .  .  .  your 
own  case.' 

Alain  looked  at  him  astonished,  but  vaguely  guessing  at 
some  sad  story,  an  early  widowhood  or  a  worthless  husband, 
asked  no  more  and  dismissed  the  subject  from  his  mind.  He 
cared  much  more  to  recall  mutual  recollections  of  St.  Aignan, 
and  listen  to  the  affectionate  respect  with  which  M.  Delys 
spoke  of  the  mother  whom  the  son  she  had  so  fondly  loved 
still  missed  and  mourned. 

Edmee  had  gone  to  her  own  little  room.  It  was  a  corner 
partitioned  off  from  a  large  hall ;  the  lofty  ceiling  was  painted 
with  garlands,  Cupids,  and  goddesses,  and  the  walls  were 
covered  with  faded  hangings,  on  which  some  traces  of  gilding 
still  remained.  The  high  and  narrow  window,  in  whose  deep 
embrasure  she  had  seated  herself,  looked  on  the  Seine,  flow- 
ing far  below.  There  were  many  such  little  apartments  in 
this  great  hive  of  the  Louvi-e.     Edmee's  room  was  almost  as 


A  MEETmO  IN  THE  ATELIER.  333 

simply  furnished  as  that  in  the  Maison  Crocq,  where  M.  Delys 
had  found  her;  there  was  a  little  bed,  a  solitary  chaii*,  and  a 
table  on  wMch  she  had  thrown  some  embroidery,  and  a  copy 
of  Lemercier's  '  Agamemnon,'  which  someone  had  lent  her. 
The  only  luxury,  if  such  it  could  be  called,  was  the  mass 
of  bright  flowers,  opening  in  the  window,  up  whose  side 
she  had  trained  ivy  to  climb ;  a  linnet,  tamed  for  her  by 
Balmat,  hopped  and  chirped  among  them.  The  little  egotist, 
like  many  another  favourite,  never  saw  how  his  mistress  sank 
down,  pale,  overwhelmed,  indignant.  She  thought  that  she 
had  foreseen  everything  which  could  possibly  happen  in  this 
fii-st  interview,  and  not  a  smgle  thing  had  occurred  as  she 
expected.  Not  only  had  she  been  uni-ecognised,  but  St. 
Aign^n  had  declared  himself  unembarrassed  by  any  wife ' 
And  with  what  a  look,  what  a  tone  he  had  said  it !  '  And 
why?  why]'  she  asked  herself  the  question  in  vain,  losing 
herself  in  endless  mazes  of  conjectiu-e,  without  approncr.ing 
the  truth.  The  situation  was  strangely  complicated.  J-Tow 
ofler  him  the  liberty  which  he  appeared  to  think  already  his  1 
But  what  a  situation  for  them  both  !  Thf  t  ^.lere  ci\'il  bond, 
wliicli  she  had  assumed  to  be  so  slight,  suddenly  seemed  to 
her  made  of  iron.  They  must  face  the  difficulty  some  day ; 
when  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  returned,  if  not  before. 
And  Balmat — why  had  he  not  warned  her  that  Alain  was  at 
hand  I  Little  by  little  indignation  gave  place  to  depression ; 
a  deep  disappointment  filled  her,  though  she  could  give  no 
explanation  of  it  to  herself.  She  thought  that  she  could  on'y 
v/ait  awhile  in  silence ;  perhaps  chance  would  give  her  the 
clue  to  the  enigma,  and  every  moment  St.  Aignan  seemed  to 
her  less  and  less  that  young  bridegi-oom  of  five  years  back. 
She  could  not  tell  Avhat  to  do.  '  Luckily  I  do  not  love  him  ! ' 
she  thought,  and  then  broke  itito  stormy  sobs,  by  way  of 
proving  it.  Edmee  rarely  wept ;  tears,  far  from  relieving  her, 
were  only  e?:haastijig,  and  when  sh.e  rose  at  la,<<t,  to  answer  a 
summons  from  ]\L  Delys,  she  felt  shattered  and  tired,  as  if  by 
some  gi-eat  shock.  He  looked  at  her  with  anxious,  troubled 
eyes,  and  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

'  Are  you  alone  now  1 '  she  asked,  hi  a  voice  still  trembling. 

*  Yes,  the  Count  has  just  gone.     My  dear  child — * 


334  :noblesse  oblige. 

*  Yes,  deal'  master,  I  have  made  a  mistak",  you  see.  I 
thought  I  counted  for  something  in  liis  life — a  difficulty,  a 
perplexity,  and  it  is  nothing  of  the  kind.' 

'  Then  he  is  not  worthy  of  you ;  he  is  worth  nothing  at 
all,  and  that  I  cannot  believe.  At  fii-st  I  was  so  angiy  that 
I  believed  everything  against  him,  but  every  moment  that  he 
stayed  I  Uked  him  better  and  better.  How  he  resembles  his 
mother  !  he  has  the  charm  of  her  smile,  her  look,  with  the 
delightful  gaiety  of  jMademoiselle  de  8t.  Aignan ;  I  saw  this 
more  and  more  when  we  were  alone  together,  and  conversed 
of  old  times ;  and  there  is  sometliing — I  do  not  know  what — 
about  him  which  makes  me  feel  that  I  could  trust  what  I 
held  dearest  gladly  in  his  hands.     What  shall  you  do  1 ' 

'  I  must  wait  and  see,'  she  answered,  sadly. 

'  Ah  !  well,  I  cannot  teU  you  how  glad  I  am  that  you 
consent  to  wait.' 

'  I  must.  It  is  a  detestable  position,  but  of  course  it  will 
end  when  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  retm-ns.  You  under- 
stand that  1  Do  not  think  ...  do  not  build  anything  on  my 
waiting.' 

*  My  dear  child  !  .  .  .  shall  you  object  to  my  having  .  .  . 
well  .  .  .  consented  to  his  sharinsc  oiu*  atelier  1 ' 

*  ^Yliat !  has  he  proposed  thati '  asked  Edmee,  with  a  start. 

*  Not  .  .  .  proposed  it,'  said  M.  Delys,  guiltily — '  but  he 
was  asking  my  advice  as  to  a  studio,  and  .  .  .  I  ,  .  .  what 
could  I  do?' 

'  I  imderstand,  well,  let  it  be  so  ;  I  can  stay  in  my  room.' 

*  But  no,  bvit  no,'  said  M.   Delys,  gT?at]y  disconcerted. 

*  Would  you  have  him  suppose  you  had  driven  him  away  1 
He  thinks  that  you  are  my  daughter ;  you  are  Madame 
Alain  to  him  and  everyone.     What  are  you  afraid  of  ? ' 

This  was  exactly  what  Edmee  would  not  own  even  to 
herself,  and  she  foimd  no  answer.  M.  Delys  was  so  troubled 
and  unhappy  at  having  displeased  her,  that  she  foimd  he 
must  be  consoled,  and  allowed  to  believe  that  he  had  done 
well,  but  the  poor  girl's  smile  was  nearer  tears  than  mirth, 
when  at  last,  quite  reassured,  he  rubbed  his  hands,  saying, 

*  Do  you  know,  I  was  afraid  I  had  made  a  blunder  in  con- 
senting to  this  aiTangemeut ;  I  thought  at  first  you  seemed 


LIFE  IN  TEE  ATELIER.  335 

annoyed ;  your  pooi-  old  master  is  terribly  afraid  of  you, 
naughty  child,  but  now  I  am  quite  satisfied ;  I  see  that  I 
have  done  the  right  thing.' 


CHAPTER  XXXYIII. 

LIFE     IN     THE     ATELIER. 


Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  was  gi-eatly  rejoiced  at  hear- 
ing from  M.  Delys  of  her  nephew's  return,  and  above  all 
that  he  was  installed  in  the  atelier.  She  had  not  given  the 
old  painter  credit  for  such  a  stroke  of  diplomacy,  and  con- 
vinced that  all  must  be  going  on  exactly  as  he  Avished,  she 
thought  that  to  return  just  yet  would  be  to  play  the  part  of 
a  marplot.  Edmee  daily  expected  her  return,  and  wrote, 
ursing:  it,  but  she  let  the  weeks  run  on,  and  still  remained  at 
Mortemart,  declarriag  that  her  little  establishment  required 
her  presence ;  she  had  no  groom  of  the  chambers  or  steward, 
and  must  fill  these  ofiices  herse'if ;  besides,  she  should  never 
be  weary  of  realising  that  her  house,  garden,  and  fields  were 
her  own  again.  It  was  worth  while,  she  asserted,  to  have  lost 
everything  just  to  experience  once  more  the  delight  of  possess- 
ing a  little  property.  A  kindly  welcome  had  not  been  want- 
ing when  she  retiu-ned  ;  everyone  seemed  joyfully  sm-prised 
to  find  her  still  alive,  and  as  it  were  grateful  to  her  for  having 
survived  the  troubles  of  the  last  years.  She  had  been  popular 
at  Mortemart,  and  no  ill  had  befallen  her  house  ;  the  seal  of 
the  nation  had  been  set  on  the  doors  and  cupboards,  and  no  ono 
had  bought  it  until  M.  Delys  became  its  nominal  purchaser. 
Nothing  had  suftered,  and  she  resumed  her  place,  found  a 
couple  of  her  former  servants  glad  to  return  to  her,  and 
laughed  with  a.11  her  heart  over  their  candid  egotism,  when 
they  declared  they  were  delighted  to  see  her  I'etm-n,  since  it 
tui-ned  out  to  be  a  false  I'cport  that  the  ])ossessions  of  all  the 
upper  classes  Avere  to  be  divided  among  the  poor.  The  Re 
volution  had  evidently  disappointed  then-  modest  expectations, 


336  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

and  they  did  not  belong  to  the  class  of  peasant  proprietors 
whom  it  had  indeed  released  from  burdens  alike  destructive 
and  unjust.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  wrote  to  Edmee 
that  she  had  all  which  heart  could  desire,  and  Edmee  had  a 
passing  thought  of  escaping  to  Mortemart  to  avoid  the  daily 
meetings  with  Alain,  but  told  herself  that  it  v/ould  be  a 
cowardly  flight  from  an  explanation  which  must  come  sooner 
or  later.  She  resolved  to  stay,  though  she  did  not  openly 
admit,  even  to  herself,  that  what  she  had  dreaded  was  far 
from  as  unendm-able  as  she  expected.  Like  herself  and  M. 
Delys,  Alain  was  working  in  earnest,  and  he  paid  her  little 
attention.  David  had  seen  his  paintings,  and  recognised  their 
merit,  and  his  praises  had  bi-ought  him  several  commissions, 
which  entii'ely  occupied  him.  Notwithstanding  all  changes, 
men  of  birth  and  education  found  their  own  level  still,  and 
M.  Delys  was  delighted  to  see  him  find  at  once  a  footing  in 
the  best  society  which  Paiis  could  afford,  though  he  contem- 
plated the  life  which  Alain  led  v/ith  suspicion  and  disapj)roval, 
chiefly  because  it  was  so  unlike  his  own.  He  could  tolerate 
the  vagaries  of  David's  pupils,  partly  because  they  did  not 
touch  him  personally,  partly  because  they  were  sheltered  by 
their  master's  name,  but  he  fidgeted  over  Alain,  holding  him- 
self responsible  for  all  which  was  done  or  not  done  by  him  to 
a  degree  which  greatly  entertained  the  object  of  his  anxieties. 
Alain  worked  uni'emittingly  for  a  certain  number  of  hours 
each  day,  but  after  that  time  he  held  himself  at  liberty  to 
spend  the  rest  as  pleased  Mm,  while  M.  Delys  devoted  every 
moment  to  his  art,  cared  not  that  no  one  would  ever  dream 
how  long  and  with  what  care  he  had  worked  at  a  leaf  or 
fiowei-,  and  never  fomid  the  day  long  enough  to  satisfy  him. 
He  contemplated  with  astonished  interest  a  style  altogether 
new  to  him,  and  greatly  influenced  by  the  English  school  of 
landscape,  then  quite  unknown  in  Fi-ance,  he  could  hardly 
admit  that  a  man  could  be  a  true  artist  who  had  as  many 
interests  outside  of  his  profession  as  Alain,  or  who  worked  in 
a  way  so  unlike  his  own  deliberate  method,  where  the  results 
were  calculated  and  reasoned  out  like  a  jDroblem  in  mathema- 
tics. M.  Delys  could  never  be  persuaded  that  a  picture  of 
his  was  really  finished,  and  would  keej^  whatever  he  had  in 


LIFE  IN  THE  ATELIER.  337 

hand  to  touch  and  retoucli  it  until  the  patience  of  the  would- 
be  piu'chasei-  had  long  been  worn  out.  At  the  time  that 
Alain  was  admitted  to  make  a  thii-d  in  the  stucho,  M.  Delys 
was  at  work  on  an  exquisite  group  of  flowers  ordei'ed  many 
months  before  by  Josephine,  then  newly  married  to  Bona- 
parte, which  hf^  still  oljstiuately  refused  to  relinquish.  Edmee 
was  helping  him,  for  he  had  but  told  the  truth  when  he 
asserted  that  she  painted  certain  flowers  better  than  lie  did, 
and  she  was  also  busy  with  a  group  ordered  by  the  charm- 
ing and  well-known  Madame  de  Noailles,  who  not  only 
patronised  art,  but  herself  studied  in  the  Louvre,  as  a  pupil 
of  Charles  Moreau's. 

The  Atelier  du  Lys  was  no  longer  the  silent  place  which 
it  had  been  when  Edmee  and  her  old  master  alone  occupied 
it.  Alain  was  apt  to  intersperse  his  work  with  snatches  of 
talk  whicli  produced  such  grumbling  replies  from  INt.  Delys 
that  he  was  reduced  to  addressing  them  all  to  Edmee,  and 
when  the  dinner  hour,  much  more  regularly  observed  since 
his  arrival,  brought  a  short  pause  in  the  work  of  two  if  not  all 
three,  Alain  was  called  on  to  show  the  sketches  in  his  port- 
folio, and  tell  the  history-  of  the  courtyards  where  the  shadows 
lay  so  thickly,  and  brown-skinned  women  with  coral  neck- 
laces washed  tlieir  broccoli  in  some  ancient  sarcophagus  ;  of 
the  ruins  Ijathed  in  Italian  sunshine,  the  cool  English  land- 
scapes and  grey  seas,  and  the  English  ])easauts,  so  luilike  the 
bowed,  withered,  miserable  labourers  of  France  as  to  appear 
a  difterent  race.  Or  he  related  adventures,  which  awoke  the 
mii'th  of  both  his  hearers,  or  translated  a  few  stanzas  of  Tasso, 
a  name  until  now  unknown  to  Edmee,  or  a  pnspage  from 
Sliaks))eare,  almost  equally  unknown,  since  she  had  become 
acquainted  with  Ms  works  only  through  a  translation,  lent 
reluctantly  by  Maurice  Quai  to  Balmat,  with  the  warning 
that  though  the  barbarous  Elizabethan  poet  had  unquestion- 
ably written  superb  things,  it  wiis  a  snare  and  a  delusion  to 
study  the  modern  instead  of  the  antique.  Balmat  now  and 
then  came,  though  far  •  less  frefpiently  than  of  old ;  Edmee 
wondered  why,  at  fii;st.  and  then  forgot  to  wonder.  He 
woidd  have  gladly  come  every  day  had  he  not  thought  her 
embarrassed  by  the  jjreseuce  of  one  who  knew  lier  secret, 


338  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

for  Alain  had  won  his  heart,  and  to  watch  the  ease  and 
delight  -with  which  he  woi'ked  was  an  unceasing  wonder  to 
Balmat,  who  knew  his  own  defects  only  too  well,  and  saw  in 
Alain  the  opposite  of  them  all.  No  one,  except  perhaj)s 
Alain,  knew  tln'ough  what  dark  days  Balmat  was  passing,  as 
far  fi-om  supporting  himself  as  ever,  unable  to  prove  to  liis 
family  that  he  had  done  right  in  leaving  home  and  the 
seciu'ity  of  daily  bread  for  the  precarious  chances  of  success 
as  an  artist,  miserable  at  still  subsisting  on  their  slender 
means,  and  perplexed  by  having  the  doctrines  of  the  '  Primi- 
tives '  dinned  into  his  ears,  which  utterly  condemned  the  style 
of  art  in  which  alone  he  seemed  to  succeed.  *  Alain  was  not 
long  in  discovering  his  cii'cumstances  and  understanding  his 
character,  and  sought  earnestly  to  help  him.  Balmat  bore 
his  fellow-students  no  gi-udge  for  their  unsparing  mockery, 
but  he  would  rather  have  died  than  exposed  his  jiosition  to 
them.  Only  fi-om  Alain,  seeking,  as  he  believed  the  same 
end  as  himself,  if  by  another  road,  Alain,  who  knew  how  to 
exorcise  the  downlieartedness  that  weighed  on  him  with  in- 
creasing and  tortuiing  persistency,  could  he  consent  to  take 
enough  for  his  small  needs,  as  he  might  from  a  brother. 
Balmat's  strong  attachment  to  Edmee  soon  struck  St. 
Aignau,  who  at  first  had  hardly  noticed  his  silent  fellow- 
worker,  except  to  feel  slightly  annoyed  by  the  uneasy 
vigilance  of  M.  Delys  whenever  he  spoke  to  her.  It  fully 
explained  the  constraint  wliich  he  coidd  not  but  perceive  in 
her  manner,  but  as  they  all  grew  used  to  each  other,  and  M. 
Delys  began  to  forget  theii-  embarrassing  position,  and  tliink 
only  of  St.  Aignan  as  an  artist,  and  Edmee  lulled  into  tem- 
porary secuiity  let  herself  drift  spell-boimd  into  mutual 
interests,  and  the  charm  of  opinions  compared  and  discussed, 
a  sweet  and  peaceful  intimacy  sprang  up.  He  found  himself 
seeking  to  awaken  the  bright  look  of  interest  which  she 
tiu-ned  to  him  when  he  advanced  some  theory,  or  told  some 
tale  of  his  exile,  and  the  tones  of  her  voice  lingered  on  his 
ear  after  she  was  silent.  It  was  a  happier  time  than  either 
understood.  Alain  was  satisfied  with  the  present  and  asked 
nothing  of  the  future  ;  Edmee  had  grown  afraid  to  let  herself 
think  of  her  false  position^  and  prized  imconsciously  the  time 


LIFE  IN  THE  ATELIER.  339 

which  must  end  with  the  return  of  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan.  Now  and  then  she  passionately  longed  for  an  ex- 
planation, but  in  Alain's  presence  she  only  felt  that  deep  and 
entii-e  satisfaction  wliich  asked  for  nothinaj,  needed  nothincr, 
and  was  so  unlike  anything  which  she  had  ever  experienced 
that  it  told  her  no  tales.  Yet  both  beo-an  to  feel  that  there 
were  depths  in  each  other's  lives  unknown  and  which  they 
could  not  sound.  Edmee  was  not  only  reserved  by  nature, 
but  had  the  story  of  her  life  to  hide  ;  Alaiu,  under  a  gay  and 
frank  manner,  was  in  j)oiat  of  f;ict  still  more  so,  and  some  of 
those  who  believed  they  knew  him  best  really  knew  him 
least,  accepting  the  suiface  transparency  for  the  depths  below. 
His  total  silence  as  to  all  connected  with  herself  perplexed 
Edmee  more  and  more,  and  whenever  she  thought  of  it,  which 
was  seldomer  than  might  easily  be  believed  in  this  calm,  fully 
occupied  life,  it  bi-ought  a  constraint  over  her  wMch  })uzzled 
him  quite  as  much.  She  had  feared  that  he  might  bring  De 
Pelven  to  the  atelier,  but  he  knew  too  well  the  abhorrence  of 
M.  Delys  for  intruders  to  bring  any  of  his  friends  there,  and 
his  cousin  could  hardly  be  counted  among  his  friends,  now 
that  the  first  natural  pleasure  at  their  meeting  had  cooled. 
Besides,  the  look  and  tone  -with  which  Edmee  had  disclaimed 
him  as  anj^thing  but  an  enemy  was  fresh  in  liis  memory,  and 
he  had  avoided  naming  her  to  De  Pelven,  who  only  knew 
that  he  was  sharing  an  atelier  in  the  Louvre  with  an  old 
painter  who  used  formerly  to  visit  St.  Aignan.  De  Pelven 
waited  on  the  watch  for  some  intelligence  of  Edmee,  and 
marvelled  more  and  more  that  she  gave  no  sign.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  artistic  temperament  in  Alain  which  enabled  him 
to  draw  such  enjoyment  from  the  present,  and  put  aside  at 
will  all  thought  of  past  or  future.  He  found  the  Atelier  du 
Lys  more  attractive  every  day.  He  and  Edmee  were  often  to 
all  intents  tete-ct-tete,  for  when  at  the  other  end  of  the  long 
room  M.  Delys  was  quite  out  of  earshot,  and  even  when  near 
was  too  much  absorioed  in  his  work,  after  the  first  uneasy 
days,  to  notice  them.  He  usually  had  several  pictures  in 
hand,  and  gave  now  an  hour  to  one,  now  to  another,  as  the 
state  of  the  painting  invited  him,  and  thus,  in  spite  of  his 
extreme   deliberation,  lost  not  a  moment,  and  got  through  a 


340  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

great  deal  of  v/ork  iii  a  year.  They  spoke  low,  however, 
when  they  conversed,  knowing  that  he  could  not  endure  that 
talk  should  reach  liim,  either  because  it  distracted  his  thoughts 
from  what  he  had  in  hand,  or  because  it  interfered  with  the 
perpetual  criticism  of  his  work  which  he  maintained  while  he 
painted,  although  each  touch  was  laid  on  with  perfect  know- 
ledge of  the  effect  which  it  would  produce,  and  wliile  the 
admixing  public  saw  only  the  exquisite  results,  apparently  so 
easily  produced,  each  touch  had  been  reflected  over,  planned 
and  reasoned  out  before  the  brush  had  touched  the  canvas. 
He  had  trained  Edmee  on  the  same  system,  but  her  feminine 
nature  sometimes  got  the  better  of  her,  and  she  would  make 
experiments,  or  paint  ^vith  too  much  impetuosity,  and  find 
herself  obKged  to  efface  and  correct,  wliile  he  hardly  ever 
needed  to  improve  anything  which  was  once  embodied  on 
hia  canvas. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

A    GLIMPSE     OF     THE     PAST. 

These  daily  conversations  gi-adually  became  longer  and  more 
personal,  and  to  that  power  of  sympathetic  listening  on 
Edmee's  part  which  had  won  Balmat's  shy  confidence  was 
added  an  intensity  of  tremvilous  interest,  of  which  Alain 
could  not  be  vmaware,  whose  sweet,  unintentional  flattery 
beguiled  him  into  revelations  which  would  half  startle,  half 
provoke  him  when  afterwards  he  recalled  them ;  but  the 
temptation  was  strong,  and  unawares  he  yielded  to  it  again 
and  again  in  this  unrestrained  intimacy,  shielded  by  the 
nominal  sm-veillance  of  M.  Delys.  Thus  Edmee  learned  the 
history  of  his  battle  with  the  world,  of  the  success  which  he 
felt  to  be  undeserved  good  fortune,  knowing  well  its  rarity, 
and  seeing  how  men  liis  equals,  perhaps  his  superiors,  could 
not  get  their  heads  above  that  sea  of  life  on  which  he  floated 
easily.     Thus,  too,  she  gathered  what  his  hopes  and  views 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  PAST.  341 

had  been  for  France  before  the  torrent  of  Eevolution  swept 
all  before  it ;  his  intense  disappointment,  and  the  brave  spirit 
which  hoped  still  amid  what  could  then  seem  but  the  ruins 
of  a  world.  So  had  hoped  all  that  was  young  and  enthu- 
siastic ia  France,  but  few  had  coolness  enough  to  see  where 
the  mistakes  had  been — the  crimes  were  visil^le  enough — or 
corn-age  to  hope  still.  Edmee  was  in  some  degi-ee  prepared 
by  her  acquaintance  "uith  Balmat's  stui-dy  Eepublicanism  to 
enter  iuto  Alaia's  views  with  tolerance  such  as  earlier  she 
could  not  have  shown,  though  such  moderate  opioions  as  his 
could  hardly  approve  themselves  to  a  feminine  mind,  to 
wliich  either  extreme  would  have  been  more  comprehensible, 
and  in  fact  Alain  belonged  to  tliat  small  band  who,  choosing 
the  middle  way,  must  inevitably  find  themselves  in  troublous 
times  crushed  between  the  mUl-stones  of  two  extreme  parties." 

*  We  were  to  live  under  an  absolute  monarchy,  if  not  a 
despotism,'  he  once  said,  speaking  of  his  school  days,  '  and 
yet  our  whole  training  was  Republican  !  pure  Republican  ! 
Tacitus  and  Livy,  and  the  institutions  of  Lycm-gus  had  pre- 
pared us  thoroughly  for  Rousseau  and  Voltaii-e.  As  for  the 
history  of  oiu-  own  coiuitry,  we  never  read  a  page  of  it.  And 
with  this  sort  of  training  we  all  suj)posed  ourselves  capable 
of  re-modelling  the  world — and  such  a  world  as  France  ! 
We  applauded  all  the  Republican  speeches  at  the  theatres ; 
we  were  all  eager  to  step  down  from  our  pedestals  of  birth 
and  privileges  ;  but  then  we  never  supposed  that  we  should 
not  be  able  to  step  up  agaui  whenever  we  wished  it.  To  be 
a  Frenchman,  and  above  all  a  Frenchman  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  seemed  the  finest  thiag  on  earth  to  xis  all.' 

'  It  seems  as  if  just  when  the  nobles  were  doing  their  best 
for  the  people,  they  were  repaid  by  persecution  ! ' 

'  True,  but  what  would  you  have  ]  How  could  the  people 
believe  us  in  earnest  1  WTiat  would  we  seem  to  them  but 
merciless  oppressors  1  If  you  had  been  in  England,  or  even 
in  Germany,  and  seen  what  the  people  are  there,  and  com- 
pared them  with  ours,-  brutalised,  stupefied  with  hopeless  toil 
...  I  recollect  asl^ng  a  woman  at  St.  Aignan  her  age — it 
was  twenty-eight,  and  she  vv'as  bent  and  wriakled  like  a 
woman  of  sixty.     My  mother,  who  was  with  me,  asked  if 


342  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

she  was  married  ;  she  answered  sullenly,  "  Would  you  have 
me  bear  children  to  be  as  miserable  as  their  mother  1 " ' 

'  Yet  St.  Aignan  was — '  Edmee  paused  suddenly ;  she 
found  herself  on  the  point  of  defending  the  condition  of  her 
commune,  blame  of  wliich  seemed  to  reflect  on  the  seigneur 
and  his  family. 

'  St.  Aignan  was  far  better  off  than  most  places,  for 
dni-ing  many  years  my  dear  mother  lived  almost  constantly 
there.  Yet  she  could  do  notliing  beyond  assisting  the  poor 
immediately  under  her  notice.  All  local  government  was 
centred  in  ofiicials  appointed  by  Government — there  was  the 
root  of  all  evil !  If  my  father  had  wanted  to  make  a  road, 
repaii-  a  bridge,  set  some  charity  on  foot,  leave  must  be  asked 
from  some  official,  and  probably  refused.  What  was  there 
to  induce  any  noble  to  live  en  jvovince  where  he  had  nothing 
to  do  1     He  went  to  Versailles  ! ' 

*  Is  it  possible  you  think  we  have  gained  by  the 
Revolution?' 

'  Pei-sonally  1     No  ! ' 

*  I  meant  generally.' 

'  Cei-tainly.'  And  then  he  painted  rapidly  for  some  time, 
paused  to  contemplate  his  work,  and  continued  as  if  there 
had  been  no  break  in  the  conversation.  '  At  whatever  cost, 
some  abuses  are  gone  for  ever.  Where  one  digs  deep  to  di-ain 
stagnant  pools,  miasmas  necessarily  must  arise  before  the 
gi-ound  is  renewed  and  the  air  clear.' 

'  But  how  little  we  have  gained  ! ' 

'  Too  true.  The  weakness  of  the  Revolution  hitherto  is 
that  its  aim  has  been  merely  to  attack.' 

'  If  we  only  were  sure  that  we  had  come  to  an  end  of  it ! ' 

*  The  end  of  it !  It  is  hardly  begim.  It  is  a  European 
movement,  and  may  take  centuries  to  work  out.' 

'  Do  you  think  so  1- '  said  Edmee,  noting  the  correspondence 
between  his  opinion  and  that  of  his  clear-sighted  aunt. 

'  What  happens  when  people  quit  an  old  house  and  have 
all  the  v/orld  before  them  where  to  choose  another  in  which 
to  settle  ? ' 

'  They  never  do  settle.' 

*  Exactly.     We  have  got  out  of  oujr  old  house,  and  built 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  PAST.  343 

a  new  one,  *but  that  is  no  proof  that  we  shall  be  contented  to 
stay  there.  We  have  made  it  ourselves,  to  oiu-  own  fancy, 
and  now  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  find  out  all  its  faults  and 
desire  another.' 

Here  M.  Delys  came  to  see  what  progress  Edmee  was 
making  in  her  work,  the  only  break  in  his  own  which  he 
allowed  himself,  and  after  a  minute  inspection,  tui-ned  to  the 
landscape  which  Alain  was  painting  from  one  of  the  studies 
which  he  had  in  his  portfolios. 

'  So  this  is  an  English  landscape,'  he  said,  meditatively. 
*  I  cannot  understand  your  having  had  an  order  for  it.  I 
should  have  said  that  our  public  v/ould  not  have  endured  this 
pearly-grey  tone,  this  evident  copying  of  nature,  pure  and 
simple ;  this  I  know  not  what  of  vague,  mysterious  poetry. 
It  is  not  according  to  our  national  taste,  unless  that,  like 
everything  else,  is  altering  strangely.  I  should  as  soon  have 
expected  our  Parisians  to  endure  Roxana  on  the  stage  in  real 
Eastern  costume,  or  a  peasant  at  the  opera  in  a  blouse.' 

'  I  painted  it  originally  to  please  myself,'  said  Alain ;  '  I 
little  thought  where  I  should  use  this  study.' 

'  Eight,  very  right !  I  hate  im]3ersonal  work,  merely  done 
to  order.  Even  in  my  poorest  days  I  could  hardly  bring 
myself  to  do  it.  So  this  is  an  English  landscape ! '  he  re- 
peated. '  Singular  people,  those  English  !  Gluttonous  and 
drunken,  but  not  without  some  poetry,  though  paralysed  as 
to  all  fine  and  delicate  enjoyment  of  life,  by  their  rigid  sense 
of  duty,  is  it  not  so,  coimt  1  I  jnctiu-e  them  to  myself  in  their 
lonely  houses,  lost  in  some  forest,  or  built  by  their  roaring 
sea,  swallowing  their  muddy  beer  and  salt  beef  beside  a  smoky 
hearth  ...  no  intellectual  pleasures,  no  gaiety,  no  society  but 
their  spleen.     Extraordinary  people  ! ' 

'  There  is  another  side  to  this  English  life,  my  dear  master,' 
said  Alain,  laugliing ;  '  beside  the  hearth,  on  which  we  will 
see  a  bright  fire,  if  yovi  please,  is  the  faithful  wife,  loved  and 
loving,  the  children,  who  grow  up  under  the  father's  eyes,  a 
book  or  gazette  on  the  table,  a  friend  coming  in  to  talk  over 
the  local  afikirs,  in  which  they  both  have  a  hand,  or  the 
government,  of  which  they  speak  ill,  without  any  desire  to 
change  it.     The  horn-  grows  late,  the  little  ones  clamber  on 


344  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

his  knee  to  say  good  night ;  the  servants  enter ;  he  reads  a 
chapter  of  the  old  family  Bible,  in  which  the  name  of  each 
child  is  inscribed,  as  a  gift  from  the  God  in  whom  he  believes ; 
they  end  with  a  prayer,  and  go  peacefully  to  their  beds,  friends 
with  all  round  them.' 

'  Exti-aordinary  people  ! '  said  M.  Delys,  again.  *  And  is 
this  then  youi-  own  ideal,  ^.lonsieur  le  Comte  1 ' 

'  Terribly  bourgeois,  is  it  not  ? '  laughed  Alain,  without 
gratifying  the  evident  cmiosity  of  the  old  man,  who  went 
back  to  his  distant  easel,  while  Edmee  paid,  '  This  then  is  an 
actual  study  from  nature.  It  is  charming,  but  your  land- 
scapes are  all  sad  or  stern,  how  seldom  smiling  I ' 

*  I  like  nature  best  thus.  When  she  smiles  she  is  cruel. 
Hearts  break,  men  perish,  kingdoms  fall,  and  all  the  while 
she  .'tands  with  her  gentle  e^es  and  serene  smile,  looking  on 
as  Venus  did  on  Psyche  bound  and  tortm-ed.' 

'  I  am  glad  she  does  !  One  does  not  want  one's  own  feel- 
ings reflected  everywhere.  I  love  flowers,  because  they  say 
nothing  of  sufiering,  or  evil,  or  sorrow  to  me.' 

Alain  looked  at  her  A\T.th  a  smile.  '  It  is  singular  how 
often  you  say  things  which  remind  me  of  my  mother,'  he  said. 
*  I  wish  you  had  known  her.  I  think  you  must  have  loved 
her,  and  she  would  certainly  haA'e  loved  you  much.' 

A  faint  colour  like  that  of  the  oleander  flowers  which  she 
was  copying  fluttered  over  Edmee's  throat  and  cheek.  *  I 
should  have  been  glad  if  she  had  even  loved  me  a  little,'  she 
miu-mured. 

'  No  one  will  ever  do  that,'  said  Alain,  and  taking  from  his 
breast  a  miniature,  he  vmfastened  it  from  the  chain  by  which 
it  hujig,  looked  at  it  and  said,  '  Look,  that  is  her  portrait.' 

'  Ah  !  you  have  it  safe,'  said  Edmee,  and  then  her  heart 
gave  a  leap  a,t  the  slip  she  had  made.  To  Alain  it  seemed 
only  a  na-au-al  remark. 

'  Yes,  though  once  I  should  have  lost  it  but  for — for  a 
stmnge  chance,'  and  he  turned  to  his  painting  with  a  gloom 
settling  on  his  brow.  Edmee  sat  looking  at  the  miniature 
recallhig  when  and  where  she  had  last  seen  it,  and  her  eyes 
gi-ew  very  misty.  There  was  a  lock  of  haii'  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  little  case  :  '  Germaine-Edmee  de  St.  Aignan,'  she 


A  OLIMPSE  OF  THE  PAST.  345 

murmvirecl,  reading  aloud  the'  name  inscribed  round  it  in  seed 
pearls. 

'  Yes,  her  name ;  said  Alain,  looking  round  and  noting 
the  deep  interest  with  which  she  was  gazmg  at  the  likeness. 
*  Ajorojws — you  have  never  told  me  what  yoiu-s  is.' 

*  Edmee.' 

*  Edmee  !  One  of  hers  ! '  and  there  was  unmistakable 
pleasure  in  his  voice.  '  You  see  I  was  right  m.  thinking 
there  was  some  bond  between  you.' 

Edmee  knew  that  she  had  an  opportunity  at  last  of  tell- 
ing him  what  the  bond  really  was.  She  tried  to  speak  and 
foimd  no  words.  '  I  cannot ! '  she  said  to  herself,  and  then 
aloud,  '  Will  you  tell  me  some  more  about  her  1 ' 

'  I  have  told  you  so  much  already,'  he  answered,  pleased 
yet  half  i-eluctant.  'You  are  such  a  witch  that  without 
speaking  half-a-dozen  words  you  beguile  me  into  telling  you 
thoughts  which  I  had  hardly  shaped  even  to  myseK.  How 
isitr 

'  Because  I  care  so  much  to  hear,'  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 
as  she  held  the  miniature  out  to  him.  His  hand  touched 
hers  ;  he  saw  her  start  and  colour,  a.nd  a  sudden  perception 
of  the  danger  of  this  sweet  close  intimacy  came  upon  him,  a 
recollection  that  though  the  common  belief  of  the  students 
was  that  she  was  a  widow,  M.  Delys  had  rather  implied  the 
contrary,  and  that  she  was  perhaps  as  little  free,  yet  as  poorly 
defended  by  the  ties,  whatever  they  were,  that  bound  her,  as 
he  was  himself.  She  saw,  but  could  not  decipher  his  change 
of  countenance,  and  measured  tone,  and  silently  resumed  her 
painting.  Alain  had  to  deal  with  the  stormy  and  contradic- 
tory feelings  in  his  heart  as  he  could.  It  was  not  that  he 
loved  this  girl,  whom  he  had  barely  known  a  month ;  love 
had  never  suggested  itself,  nor  ordinary  gallantry  from  a 
man  to  a  pretty  woman,  but  she  had  seemed  to  him  a  charm- 
ing companion ;  her  presence  was  welcome  to  him,  he  tui-ned 
to  her  with  the  certainty  of  obtaining  sympathetic  compre- 
hension ;  the  atelier  would  have  seemed  empty  without  her, 
and — though  she  waa  only  a  friend — the  bond  which  he'd 
him  fettered  appeared  even  more  intolerable  than  when  De 
Pelven  bad  first  told  him  the  tale  which  in  his  first  hot  anger 


346  NOBLESSE  OBLIQE. 

had  made  him  aspert  that  he  had  no  wife.  Edm^e  did  not 
know  of  this  bojid,  and  it  was  not  a  pleasant  story  to  tell 
her.  Possibly  it  might  yet  be  loosed,  and  then  it  would  be 
needless  e^er  to  name  it.  He  worked  in  unusual  silence 
until  the  hour  when  he  usually  considered  liimself  free ;  when 
he  rose  to  put  away  his  brushes,  Edmee,  very  anxious  to  de- 
tain him  and  learn  what  this  mood  meant,  said,  '  Have  yoii 
seen  those  portraits  of  Balmat's  in  the  portfolio  there  1  I 
made  him  biing  them  for  you  to  look  at ;  they  are  excellent.' 

Perhaps  he  was  not  soriy  to  stay.  '  Has  Balmat  been  hei'e  1 ' 
he  said,  '  I  was  going  in  searcli  of  him,  we  have  seen  very 
little  of  him  late'y,  and,  by  the  way,  how  ill  he  is  looking ! ' 

'  Is  he  1 '  said  Edmee. 

*  How  !  is  it  possible  you  have  not  noticed  it  1 ' 

'Ko,  not  at  all,'  she  answered,  flusliing  under  his  look  of 
sui']i)rise  and  reproach,  and  well  aware  that  her  thoughts  had 
been  exclusively  occupied  with  someone  else.  She  felt  un- 
reasonably angry  with  Alain,  who  tiu-ned  to  her  with  a 
serious  look,  saying  more  in  answer  to  the  sort  of  defiance 
with  which  she  had  spoken  than  the  words  themselves,  '  I 
should  hardly  have  known  him  again.  He  must  have  had  a 
ten-ibly  hard  life,  with  no  success  and  little  hope — that  stead- 
fast patience  of  his  is  wonderful,  but  a  man  cannot  live  on 
patience — and  I  fear  he  has  had  little  else.' 

'  Do  you  think  he  has  been  worse  off  than  usual  1 '  asked 
Edmee,  now  too  anxious  to  feel  vexed. 

'  I  think  he  has  lived  on  a  straw  a  day,  and  now  is  break- 
ing down.' 

'  But  he  gained  something  by  working  a  little  with  a 
watchmaker.' 

'  Do  not  you  know  that  his  friend  left  Paris  some  time 
agor 

*  No,  he  never  told  me.  Poor  Balmat !  Shall  you  see 
him  to-day  ? ' 

'  Probably.  Are  these  the  portraits  which  he  made  in 
the  prisons  1     Admii-able  ! ' 

'  Some,  you  know,  he  sold ;  many  he  contrived  to  give  to 
families  to  vrhom  they  were  unspeakably  precious ;  these  he 
kept ;  they  were  done  from  memory,  or  very  slight  sketches,' 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  PAST.  347 

Alain  examined  the  contents  of  the  portfolio  with  gi-eat 
interest.  Every  one  of  these  portraits  suggested  some 
tragedy.  Presently  Edmee  saw  him  start,  and  turn  to  the 
back  of  the  paper  wliich  he  had  in  his  hand.  Balmat  had 
only  ventm-ed  to  put  initials  to  these  likenesses,  hut  Edmee 
saw  that  Alain  knew  whose  these  were. 

*  Brissac-Langeac !  I  thought  so,'  and  he  looked  for  a 
long  time  at  the  portrait.  '  How  like  the  daughter  ! '  Then, 
seeing  Edmee's  eyes  fixed  on  him,  though  hastily  tui-ned 
away" as  he  raised  his  own,  he  said,  '  Do  you  think  Balmat 
would  part  with  tliis  ]  I  could  find  him  a  purchaser.  The 
daughter  of  this  lady  is  now  returned  to  Paris,  she  is  that 
Madame  de  Blanquefort  to  whose  husband  the  hotel  belonged 
which  your  M.  Jobin  has  bought — you  recollect  describing 
his  visit  ] ' 

'  Yes.     She  is  then  married  1 ' 

'  To  a  man  twenty  years  older  than  herself,  whom  she 
loves.' 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  which  told  Edmee  the 
story  of  a  page  of  Alain's  heart  hitherto  never  seen  by  her. 

*  She  must  be  a  beautiful  woman  if  she  be  like  her 
mother.' 

'  The  most  beautiful  I  ever  saw.' 

Edmee  felt  a  new,  imknown  an,o:uLsh  clutch  her,  so  keen, 
so  strong  that  all  the  strength  of  her  natiire  rallied  in- 
stinctively to  meet  it,  and  she  asked  with  unchanged  voice, 
'  Did  you  knov>r  her  in  England  1 ' 

*  Yes,  we  first  met  there  ;  they  were  living  at  Eichmond  ; 
she  was  occupied  with  organising  means  for  helping  other 
refugees,  less  well  off  than  themselves,  and  I  was  able  to  be 
of  some  use  to  her,  and  saw  her  constantly.' 

Edmee  sniessed  the  rest.  He  saw  s-he  did.  Alain  de  St. 
Aignan  was  a  man  of  refined  and  chivalrous  feeling,  but  no 
one  ever  escaped  totally  unscathed  by  the  sins  of  his  time, 
and  Madame  de  Blanquefort,  a  beautiful  woman  older  than 
himself,  had  Ijeen  the  object  of  a  passionate,  respectful  adora- 
tion, which  had  at  last  found  vent  in  words.  'Do  not 
imagine  I  was  ever  more  in  her  eyes  than  a  young  man  who, 
like  everyone  else,  admired  her  exceedingly,'  he  said  gravely 


348  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

and  earnestly.  'And  yet  no — that  is  scarcely  true;  ste 
proved  an  cxcelleut  friend  to  me;  she  showed  nie  more 
esteem  and  kindness  than  perhaps  she  would  to  another. 
Her  husband  is  a  fine  old  man — between  them  they  helped 
me  through  a  dangerous  crisis.  It  is  gone  by  now,  but  I 
have  the  happiness  of  retaining  both  as  my  best  friends.' 

*  Gone  by  ? '  Edmee  repeated,  and  her  wistfid  eyes  were 
eloquent. 

'  That  mad  phase  is  assuredly  gone  by,  but  I  look  to 
Madame  de  Blanquefort  as  my  best  and  kindest  adviser.  She 
knows  the  story  of  my  life — one  which,  if  you  will,  I  shall 
tell  you  some  day.' 

Edmee  made  no  answer.  It  seemed  to  her  noAv  that  she 
knew  why  he  had  repe-led  the  question  of  M.  Delya  as  to 
his  marriage.  The  veil  which  had  thinly  covered  her  eyes  as 
to  her  own  feelings  was  rudely  torn  away,  and  with  a  sort  of 
despaii"  she  owned  to  herself  that  she  loved  him,  while  she 
■was  nothing  to  him — nothing — women  endiu-e  such  agonies 
without  flinching,  and  Alain  did  not  guess  her  secret  from 
look  or  tone,  though  when  he  offered  her  his  hand  in  farewell 
he  was  startled  by  the  icy  coldness  of  hers. 

'  How  cold  you  are  on  this  hot  day  ! '  he  exclaimed,  de- 
taining the  unwilling  fingers.  '  You  spend  too  much  time  in 
the  atelier;  M.  Delys  never  recollects  that  the  life  which 
suits  him  may  not  be  equally  good  for  you.  Have  you  no 
friends  whom  you  ever  visit  ? ' 

The  solicitude  was  sweet  to  her.  '  None,'  she  answered, 
smiling.     '  I  have  no  time  for  friends.' 

'  But  surely  you  had  some  formerly  ?  Before  you  lived  in 
Paris,'  said  Alain,  with  a  strong  desii'e  to  learn  something  of 
her  history. 

She  shook  her  head.  He  stood  looking  at  her  for  a 
moment.  Perhaps  some  discovery  was  taking  place  in  his 
mind  too.  '  Will  you  have  me  for  one  ? '  he  asked,  very 
gently.  '  You  know  most  of  my  history ;  I  want  to  toll  you 
the  rest  some  day,  and  then  may  I  not  know  yours  in  return  ? 
I  have  heard  nothing,  except  that  you  are  married,'  he  added, 
lowering  his  voice,  as  if  fearing  to  touch  on  a  painful  subject. 

*  There  is  nothing  worth  telling,'  she  answered,  the  rosy 
colour  flooding  cheek  and  ]jrov\'. 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  PAST.  349 

'Did  joxi  call  me,  7non  pero,  % ' 

Alain  had  not  heard  the  call,  but  M.  Delys  looked  round, 
and  Edmee  went  to  his  side.  She  did  not  look  round,  but 
she  knew  very  well  that  he  had  taken  Ealmat's  portfolio  and 
was  gone  out  of  the  atelier.  Presently  she  made  an  excuse 
for  doing  the  same,  wrote  a  hasty  note  to  Balmat,  and  sent  it 
by  a  commissionnaire,  Avho  by-and-by  brought  her  back  a 
packet.  She  laid  it  on  Alain's  easel,  with  a  slip  of  paper  which 
she  had  fastened  to  it,  and  then  said  to  JM.  Delys,  whose  back 
was  turned,  '  lion  maitre,  a  commissionnaire  has  brought  a 
packet  for  Monsieur  le  Comte.  Will  you  tell  him.  so,  if  he 
should  come  back  this  evening  1 ' 

Alain  did  return  that  evening,  Avell  pleased  at  the  result 
of  his  errand  to  Madame  de  Blanfpiefort.  Edmee  was 
not  in  the  atelier,  and  M.  Delys  was  peevish.  *  She  said  she 
wanted  fresh  aii','  he  explained,  and  that  she  should  go  to  the 
Tuileries  gardens.  Fresh  air  ?  I  never  knew  her  talk  such 
nonsense  before.  I  am  bewitched  this  eveninsf ;  nothinsr 
prospers  with  me ;  here  has  this  lily  di-opped  its  petals  just  as 
I  was  studying  how  to  give  the  gloss  on  them,  and  that  leaf 
which  I  have  been  working  on  for  an  hour  looks  stiff, 
actually  stiff.  Fresh  air  !  as  if  there  were  not  enough  in  a 
barrack  of  a  place  like  this  !  That  rapid  way  of  painting  of 
yours  has  demoralised  her  ;  she  thinks  that  everybody  else  can 
get  through  work  at  the  same  rate.  The  light  was  absolutely 
perfect  when  this  fancy  seized  her.' 

*  She  shall  be  punished  by  not  hearing  my  good  news  to- 
night,' said  Alain,  amu.'ed.  '  Ealmat's  sketch — one  which  I 
showed  to  a  friend — is  sold,  and  well  sold,  and  he  may 
probably  dispose  of  others.  Besides,  I  have  an  order  for  one 
of  his  pictures.' 

*  Our  good  Swiss  !  That  is  well,  I  am  glad  of  it — but  this 
leaf  does  not  satisfy  me  at  all,'  said  M.  Delys,  who,  Miough 
one  of  the  kindest  of  men,  could  never  al:)stract  himself  fiom 
his  painting  when  a  brush  was  in  his  hand.  '  No,  not  at  all 
—it—' 

'  Who  brought  this  here  ? '  asked  Alain,  so  suddenly  and 
shavply  that  M.  Delj^s  looked  round  startled. 

*  Brought  what]  Wliat  are  you  talking  oil  That  packet  ] 
liow  shoxild  I  now  ]     A  commissiounau-e,  I  believe,'  and  ho 


350  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

returned  to  his  rebellious  leaf.  Alain  stood  with  the  packet 
open  in  liis  hand,  thinldng  much  less  of  the  title-deeds  which 
it  contained,  than  of  the  scrap  of  paper,  on  Avhich  v/as  written, 

*  If  M.  le  Comte  de  St.  Aignan  desu-e  his  Kberty  he  has  only 
to  claim  it.' 

*  I  must  see  Balmat,'  he  said,  again  starth'r^g  M.  Delys. 

*  Good  evening.' 

'  See  as  many  people  as  you  please,  only  do  not  make  me 
start  again,  there  is  a  conspiracy  against  me  to-day,  and  all 
these  flowers  are  in  it.     Whom  did  you  say  you  must  see  1 ' 

But  Alain  was  gone,  and  Edmee  returning  perceived  that 
he  had  found  the  packet,  and  that  it  v/as  gone  too.  Her 
attempts  at  questioning  M.  Delys  brought  her  no  information; 
he  was  quite  unaware  that  anything  had  passed  in  his  atelier 
that  day  moi-e  important  than  the  di'opping  of  his  lily  petals. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

ENTRAPPED. 

There  was  so  much  surprise  in  the  *  Come  in ! '  with 
which  Balmat  answered  Alain's  knock  that  it  was  evident 
visitors  were  scarce.  The  voice  sounded  feeble,  and  when 
Alain  entered,  his  immediate  preoccupation  was  driven  out 
of  his  mind  by  the  sight  of  Balmat  lying  in  his  bed,  and 
looking  very  ill.  He  held  out  his  hand  with  a  smile,  saying, 
*  This  is  kind,  I  wondered  whether  anyone  would  miss  me 
enough  to  come  and  see  what  had  become  of  me.' 

'  How  long  have  you  been  here  1 '  said  Alain,  sitting  down 
beside  him. 

'  Only  since  yesterday.  I  kept  up  as  long  as  I  could,  but 
had  to  give  in  yesterday  afternoon.' 

*  Has  no  one  been  to  look  after  you  ?  Have  you  seen  no 
doctor  !■ '  asked  Alain,  looldng  round  the  cheerless  garret. 

*  Madelon  has  not  found  out  that  I  am  laid  up,  I  fmcy, 


ENTRAPPED.  351 

and  I  could  not  make  anyone  else  hear  -without  too  much 
Q-ouble.     A  doctor  !  what  could  he  do  ? '. 

*  You  have  worked  yourself  to  death  ! ' 

'  I  believe  I  have,'  said  Balmat,  quietly.  *  It  was  all  1 
could  do.' 

*  Those  days  are  past,  dear  old  friend.  Yom*  pictiu'es  are 
beginning  to  sell.' 

'  Are  they  ! '  said  Balmat,  raising  himself  up,  with  a  flush 
on  his  thin  cheek,  '  what  do  you  mean  % ' 

xVlain  told  bim  how  Madame  de  Blanquefort  had  gladly 
paid  a  liberal  sum  for  the  portrait  of  her  mother,  and 
had  ordered  one  of  his  pictiu'es,  but  a  look  of  disappointment 
came  over  Bal  mat's  face.  *  Ah  ...  as  a  sort  of  second  pay- 
ment for  the  likeness.' 

'  No,  no,  why  will  you  take  it  so,  you  provoking  fellow  1 
EecoUect  I  have  a  reputation  as  a  connoisseur  to  keep  up, 
and  when  she  asked  me  if  your  oil  paintmgs  were  as  good  as 
the  crayon  portraits  I  pledged  myself  for  theii*  merit.' 

'  It  is  not  as  a  charity,  St.  Aignan  1 ' 

*  No,  on  my  word.  Your  pictures  "only  need  once  to  be 
knoAvn  to  sell.  I  fully  believe  that  the  corner  is  turned,  and 
you  will  be  a  successful  man  henceforward.' 

*  Too  late.  You  see  I  am  a  failure  to  the  last,'  said 
Balmat,  with  a  patient  smile  ;  '  you  do  not  understand  ?  No, 
because  you  will  not,  dear  St.  Aignan.  Do  you  not  see  that 
I  shall  never  paint  another  stroke  1  It  needs  no  doctor  to 
tell  me  that ;  I  feel  it,'  and  as  Alain  instinctively  made  some 
protest,  '  Talk  to  me  of  yourself,  that  will  do  me  mor«  good 
than  your  kind  little  fiilsehoods.' 

*  Yes,  I  have  much  to  say  ;  but  Balmat,  toll  mo — if  you  are 
as  ill  as  you  think,  would  you  not  see  some  of  your  family  1 
You  cannot  hesitate  as  to  means  1  Even  if  I  were  not  here, 
a  friend  with  a  ])nrse  all  your  own,  there  is  this  money 
of  Madame  do  Blanquefort's — why  not  try  returning  to 
Switzerland  1 ' 

'  Do  not  speak  to  mo  of  Switzerland,'  said  Balmat,  in  a 
tone  of  sharp  pain,  and  jjressing  bis  hand  on  his  eyes.  *I 
dream  of  it  every  night —  '  but  his  look  of  patient  cheerful- 
ness retm-ned  immediately.     *  It  woidd  make  no  diflcrence  in 


3b-4 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


the  end,  only  be  a  useless,  selfish  expense,  and  I  should  like, 
— ah,  yon  cannot  cfiiesg  what  it  would  be  to  me  to  send  home 
ti  is  money  ...  I  hope  I  shall  not  live  so  long  as  to  spend  a 
great  deal  of  it.  They  have  spared  and  pinched  for  me,  and 
now,  to  give  this  pleasure  at  the  last!  God  is  good  to  me. 
It  will  seem  so  much  to  them  ;  it  will  save  my  poor  mother 
from  always  hearing  that  my  going  to  Paris  was  a  mistake 
in  wliich  she  ought  not  to  have  encouraged  me — Poor 
mother  !  there  will  be  an  empty  place  for  ever  in  her  heart .' 
I  have  been  trying  to  write  to  her — No,  I  must  do  it  myself, 
as  Alain  with  moistened  eyes  oftered  to  do  it  for  him — '  I 
shall  manage  it  by-and-by,  there  is  no  great  hiuTy,  I  think, 
and  she  will  like  to  have  my  letter.  I  thought  it  was  coming 
to  this  some  time  ago.  There  are  not  a  great  many  more  miles 
of  the  journey  to  count,  I  fancy.     Now,  yourself? ' 

He  spoke  feebly,  and  with  pauses,  but  the  brooding  me- 
lancholy seemed  all  gone ;  the  iluctuation  of  spirits  which 
used  to  hai-ass  him,  especially  aftei-  mental  exertion,  had 
disappeared,  yet  there  was  no  reluctance  to  face  the  truth, 
which  forced  itself  more  and  more  on  Alain's  mind,  that,  as 
Ealmat  said,  he  had  but  few  more  miles  of  the  journey  of 
life  to  travel  over.  Privation,  loneline-s,  the  change  from  a 
ftee  country  life  to  Paris,  disappointment  and  home-sickness 
had  sapped  his  strength,  and  taken  away  the  desire  for 
farther  battle  with  fortime,  though  the  gleam  of  prosperity 
v/hich  came  so  late  was  Sweet  to  him.  To  Alain,  in  whom 
life  was  so  strong  that  all  his  difficulties  were  rather  a  stimu- 
lus than  a  burden,  and  to  whom  after  all  it  had  been  kind, 
giving  more  than  it  had  taken  away,  since  in  depriving  him 
of  I'ank  and  state,  fortune  had  set  him  free  to  follow  success- 
fally  the  art  which  he  loved,  this  serene  submission  was  un- 
speakably sad  and  painful.  His  distress  moved  Balmat  with 
pleased  grateful  surprise.  '  Why,  you  cannot  think  how 
strange  it  seems  that  you  should  cai'O  so  much  whether  I  live 
or  die,'  he  said,  laying  his  thin  hand  on  St.  Aignan's.  '  I  did 
not  think  that  anyone  here  would,  unless,  i^erhaps  .  .  .  well, 
yes,  slie  would.  I  think  I  should  like  to  be  sure  of  her 
happiness,'  he  added,  with  a  wistful  look  at  Alain.  '  It  is 
thanks  to  her  that  I '  have  got  on  till  now.  She  has  been 
dearer  to  me  even  than  my  sisters,  I  think.' 


ENTRAPPED.  353 

Alain  understood  that  lie  was  thinking  of  Edmde.  '  You 
asked  me  just  now  to  speak  of  myself,'  he  said ;  '  if  you  can 
cai*e  to  hear,  I  have  abundance  to  tell.  Fb'st — look  here.  I 
fiimid  these  to-da,y  on  my  easel — brought  by  a  commission- 
raiio.' 

*  The  title-deeds  of  your  property ! '  said  Ealmat,  who, 
though  nevei-  told,  had  guessed  the  contents  of  the  packet. 

'  Yes — but  that  matters  little.  If  I  recover  the  St.  Aignan 
estate,  I  must  sell  it ;  I  could  not  live  there  for  a  hundred 
reasons ;  besides,  it  is  heavily  mortgaged.  The  important 
thing  is  that  they  were  undoubtedly  carried  off  by  that  rascal 
Leroux,  and  must  afterwards  have  reached  his  daughter's 
hands.  De  Pelven  tells  me  he  got  his  desei  ts  by  the  guillotine. 
Poor  child  !  this  restoruig  of  them  reminds  me  strangely  of 
her  fatal  generosity  when  she  came  to  warn  me.  Thei-e  must 
have  been  something  fine  in  her.' 

*  I  have  wondered  you  never  named  her,'  said  Ealmat, 
who  had  given  much  perplexed  consideration  to  this  question 
since  the  return  of  St.  Aigiiau. 

'  I  must  tell  5'ou  the  reason,  I  suppose.  You  thought  I 
had  forgotten  her  ? ' 

*  JSTo,  not  that.     Some  might,  but  I  do  not  think  you  could.' 

*  You  are  right,  and  I  should  have  given  my  best  efforts 
to  finding  her  but  for  what  I  had  already  learned.  She  easily 
consoled  herself  in  my  absence.  You  may  imagine  the  story 
— an  every-day  one.' 

*  How  !  Who  dared  lie  thus  1  Who  slandered  her  so  to 
you  1 '  exclaimed  Ealmat,  with  a  flash  of  indignation  which 
won  a  smile  from  Alain,  in  spite  of  himself. 

'  Why,  yoxi  saw  even  less  of  her  than  I  did,'  he  said, 
*  unless  you  met  afterwards  1  What  makes  you  so  hot  to 
champion  her  % ' 

'  I  want  to  know  who  your  informant  was.  Do  Pelven  1 
So  !  T  knew  it.' 

*  If  you  had  not  onqc  said  that  yoiu'  only  women  friends 
here  were  your  landlady,  and  Delys'  daugliter,  I  should  cer- 
tainly think  you  knew  this  gii-l,  Ealmat.' 

'  I  have  no  others,' answered  Ealmat,  considering  how  far 
his  promise  of  secresy  to  Edmco  bomid  him  under  tliis  uu- 


to 


354  FOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

expected  aspect  of  events.  '  But  I  think  you  very  ready  to 
credit  stories  to  the  disadvantaga  of  a  girl  who  seems  always 
to  have  acted  a  fine  and  generous  part.' 

'  You  mistrust  my  couran  1  So  do  I,  v/ith  no  reason  that 
I  know  of — but  in  this  matter  he  can  have  no  conceivable 
motive  for  deceiving  me.' 

*  Who  can  tay  1 '  Ealmat  had  resolved  to  betray  nothing 
at  this  moment,  but  to  communicate  with  Edmee.  '  By  what 
I  know  of  him  his  motives  are  never  easy  to  read,  and  there 
I  should  disbelieve  every  word  against  her  if  he  swore  it.  A 
cirl  who  can  act  thus  cannot  have  fallen  so  low.' 

*  Look  here,'  said  Alain,  putting  the  slip  of  paper  before 
him. 

*  So  ! '  said  Ealmat  again.      '  And  what  do  you  mean  to 

dor 

'  See  her — sift  the  matter,  if  I  knew  how.  But  she  has 
forgotten  one  little  thing — her  address.' 

'  So  she  has,'  said  Ealmat,  laughing  a  little.  '  No  doubt 
in  her  hui-ry  and  agitation  that  never  occurred  to  her.' 

'  lEuny  !  agitation  !  You  di'aw  largely  on  your  imagina- 
tion, my  friend.' 

'  It  does  not  appear  to  me  from  the  wording  of  this  that 
she  gi-eatly  desii-es  a  divorce,  except  to  set  you  free.' 

Alain  i-ead  the  words  again;  it  was  a  new  light  to  him, 
not  a  welcome  one. 

'  Do  you  yourself  wish  it  % '  asked  Balmat,  eyeing  him 
narrowly. 

'  1 1- — If  you  ask  me — yes.  But  let  that  alone.  In  any 
case  I  am  in  an  intolerable  position — altogether  false  and 
slippery.  I  go  about  apparently  a  free  man,  while — -What 
do  you  know  of  that  daughter  of  old  Delys  1  I  can  under- 
stauil  nothing  of  her  story.' 

If  Alain  thought  that  Ealmat  would  not  see  the  connec- 
tion betvv^een  the  hasty  outbreak  with  which  his  speech  be- 
gan, and  the  studied  carelessness  of  the  end,  he  was  mistaken. 
Balmat's  eyes  brightened,  and  he  said, '  Stoiy  1 — Has  she  one  !■ 
She  is  the  best  friend  I  ever  l:"s.d.  Eeople  laugh  at  friendship 
between  a  man  and  woman,  but  I  have  good  reason  to  believe 


EJ^TEAPPED.  355 

in  it.  I  wish  she  were  happily  married,  for  the  old  man  has 
not  a  Hard's  worth  of  worldly  wisdom.' 

'  She  is  free  then  1  I  thought  there  was  some  husband, 
alive  or  dead,  in  the  way.' 

'  You  had  better  ask  her,'  said  Balmat,  '  but  meanwhile, 
if  I  were  you,  I  should  let  this  business  of  finding  out 
Avhence  the  papers  come  rest  for  the  present.  You  must 
surely  soon  hear  more.  ISTo  woman  v/ill  stop  here.  Having 
gone  so  far  she  will  take  another  step,  especially  if  ii-ritated 
by  your  silence.  If  I  can  I  will  get  to  the  Atelier  du  Ly3 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  learn  v>'hether  anytliiiig  fresh  has  oc- 
ciuTed.  It  would  be  very  kind  if  you  would  tell  Da"vid  why 
I  am  absent.  Has  anything  hap^Dened  among  our  fellows  1 
Have  you  looked  in  lately  ? ' 

**  Not  much,  except  that  someone,  Isntird,  I  think  they 
call  him,  has  come  back,  released  from  prison,  I  believe.' 

*  Isnard  ! — That  is  news  indeed,  but  do  you  know  no- 
thing of  the  causes  of  his  imprisonment  1 — he  has  not  Ijceii  to 
see  M.  DelysT 

'  I  should  not  have  thought  there  was  much  friendship 
between  Delys  and  that  raving,  ranting  fjUow,  who  seems 
always  knitting  his  brows  and  tearing  his  hau',  and  lifting  liis 
eyes  to  heaven — which  he  does  not  believe  in.' 

'  Oh,  that  is  the  state  of  mind  in  which  he  has  returned  1 
and  the  others  ! — they  do  not  spare  their  jeers.' 

'  That  you  may  be  sure  of,'  said  Alain,  laugliing  at  tho 
recollection. 

'  L>id  he  know  you  were  the  cousin  of  De  Pelven  ? ' 

*  No,  how  should  he  1     Who  does  but  yourself  1 — ' 

'  So  much  the  better.  He  has  a  long-standing  gi'udge 
against  him.' 

'  I  do  not  fancy  it  in  him  to  do  more  than  bluster,'  said 
Alain,  carelessly. 

*  ^.'ou  are  wrong.  He  is  capable  of  any  mischief,  if  piqued 
enough,  and  it  could  be  done  in  a  moniout.' 

'  I  have  tii-ed  you,  dear  Ealmat.     What  can  I  do  before 

Igor 

'  Nothing,  only  come  again  soon,  unless  I  appear.' 


356  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  That  I  will,'  said  Alain,  leaning  over  him  with  such 
tsndor  compassion  that  Balmat's  eyes  filled  with  tears, 

'  Do  not  waste  sorrow  on  me,'  he  said,  brushing  them  away; 
'  I  can  dip,  that  is  not  hard,  and  it  secui'es  me  from  what  I  have 
feared — '  he  turned  very  pale,  but  Alain's  aftectionate  pres- 
sure of  the  hand  led  him  on — '  it  has  haunted  me  all  these 
years  ;  I  fought  it  as  well  as  I  could,  but  it  was  always  there. 
One  of  my  brothers  .  .  .  things  went  wrong  with  him, — he 
had  the  same  fear,  and  he  fought  too,  but  the  battle  was  too 
hard — -he — shot  himself.  I  have  thought  I  should  end  so 
too,  do  what  I  would,  but  that  is  gone  by  now,  thank  God.' 

It  was  the  first  glimpse  that  Alain  had  ever  had  of  those 
troubled  depths  which  lay  under  the  poor  fellow's  quiet  im- 
passive manner.  He  could  only  murmur  some  words  of 
deep  sympathy. 

*  I  thought  to  get  away  from  it  by  work,  but  even  that 
seemed  to  turn  against  me ;  no  one  thought  what  I  could  do 
worth  doing  in  the  atelier,  and  it  is  hard  to  be'ieve  in  oneself 
against  all  the  world ;  besides,  there  are  David's  doctrines,  you 
know — I  could  not  work  them  out.  But  it  is  a,ll  over  now, 
and  I  did  the  best  I  could.  You  two — you  and  Edmee  have 
been  good  friends  to  me,  and  you  will  miss  me  a  little — as 
much  and  more  than  I  deserve.  It  is  odd,  too,  to  tliink  how 
little  change  one's  death  makes  in  the  world ! — -Well,  au 
revoir,  dear  St.  Aignan.  Tell  Madelon  to  come  up  some  time 
to-day.' 

Alain  had  already  resolved  not  to  leave  the  Maison  Crocq 
until  he  had  seen  Madelon,  and  made  provision  that  Balmat 
should  not  again  be  left  without  even  a  glass  of  water  within 
reach.  Madelon  looked  unpromising,  and  as  if  the  illness  of 
her  lodger  occui-red  expressly  to  annoy  her,  and  Alain  im- 
patiently turned  from  her,  and  mounted  to  the  floor  where 
lived  Edmee's  old  neighbours,  the  poor  artisan  and  his  wife, 
hoping  to  secure  a  kinder  attendant  in  the  Avoman,  but  wliile 
he  was  talking  to  her  Madelon  passed  on  her  way  up  to 
Balmat's  garret,  and  her  voice  could  be  heard  in  gentler  tones 
than  Alam  had  expected.  I\Iadame  Amat  too  promised  to 
look  to  Balmat's  comfort,  and  send  her  husband  to  summon 
St.  Aignan  should  he  seem  worse,  and  Alain  left  the  Maison 


ENTRAPPED.  357 

Crocq  somewhat  better  satisfied  witli  his  Mend's  chances  of 
.;are  and  comfort  than  he  had  expected,  and  took  his  way  to 
the  apartment  where  he  had  established  liimse^f,  havino-  soon 
fomid  that  he  should  prefer  one  of  his  own  to  sharing  that  of 
De  Pelven,  though  strongly  xn-ged  by  his  cousin  to  remain 
with  him.  It  was  not  altogether  a  welcome  sight  to  see  Do 
Pelven  waiting  for  him  there. 

'  At  last !  I  began  to  think  you  lost.  It  is  nearly  a 
week  since  I  have  seen  you  !— What  have  you  been  about  1 
How  do  your  affairs  go  on  1 ' 

'  Excellent'Y,  if  3^ou  speak  of  artistic  matters.' 

*  And  the  others  1     Any  news  of  the  false  one  ?  * 

*  Noticing  definite.' 

*  Some,  I  see.  But  I  do  not  want  to  pry  into  your  affau-s 
unless  I  can  ssrve  you.' 

Alam  felt  liimself  imgi-acious  without  reason  to  a  man 
who  deserved  something  better  from  him,  and,  excejDt  his  own 
reluctance  to  admit  De  Pelven  into  his  confidence,  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  make  a  mystery  of  the  event  of  the 
afternoon. 

'  Notliing  definite,  as  you  say,'  repeated  De  Pelven,  study- 
ing the  scrap  of  paper,  which  Alain  liad  given  him,  while 
briefly  narrating  what  had  occurred.     '  And  now  1 ' 

'  yomehow  or  other  she  must  be  found.' 

*  I  might  be  able  to  help  you — I  do  not  know.  Depend 
on  my  doing  all  I  can,  and  let  me  know  what  happens.' 

'  What  have  you  been  doing  since  we  met  last  'I ' 

*  Watching  men  building  with  old  materials  which  have 
been  shattered  to  pieces.  Upon  my  word,  some  people  do  not 
seem  aware  tliat  tbere  has  been  a  revolution  !  By  the  way, 
you  sec  a  good  deal  of  that  young  nephew  of  the  De  Blan- 
queforts  1 ' 

Alain  assented,  a  good  deal  siu-priscd  at  Do  Pelven's 
knowledge  of  bis  proceedmgs. 

*  He  is  running  himself  and  them  into  danger.  The  oVi 
man  is  in  a  dillicult  position  ;  he  has  a  hot  head,  generous 
impulses,  was  first  idtra-revolutionist,  then  c((ua]]y  violent 
the  other  way,  and  always  for  uiaintainiiig  aristocracy,  want- 
ing to  ref(n-m  the  nobles  and  keep  them,  altciing  nothing  else. 


358  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Of  course  he  had  to  emigrate,  and  now  that  he  has  returned, 
he  is  a  marked  man,  under  surveillance.  In  rea'ity  he  is 
perfectly  harm'.ess,  a  man  who  would  feel  bound  hand  and 
foot  by  his  promises  and  engagements  to  Government,  but  the 
nephew  1 — ' 

De  Pelven  paused  enquiringly,  Alain  said  nothing. 

'  The  nephew — as  Fouclie  says — you  know  Fouche  ] ' 

*  A  creature  like  a  hyena  in  a  coat  ?  Yes,  I  have  seen 
him.' 

'  Fouche  says  that  the  young  De  Blanquefort  is  as  hot- 
headed as  his  uncle,  and  weak,  and  easily  led  besides.  I 
fancy  you  have  beeii  trying  to  keep  him  out  of  mischief,  but 
there  is  no  doing  anything  with  fools,  and  he  will  be  the  ruin 
of  all  that  fimily,  This  very  day  he  is  intending  to  be 
present  at  a  loyalist  meeting,  on  which  Fouche  is  preparing 
to  lay  his  hand ;  the  police  have  full  information,  and  stand 
laughing  while  these  imbeciles  run  their  heads  into  the  trap. 
It  is  a  bad  business  for  all  concerned.  If  I  had  seen  you 
sooner  I  would  have  given  you  a  hint  not  to  appear  in  public 
quite  so  often  with  Edouard  de  Blanquefort.' 

'  I  must  find  him  at  once,'  said  Alain,  unheeding  the 
warning.  *  Where  is  he  likely  to  be  1  There  is  a  house 
where  he  often  goes  .  .  .  the  mistress  is  a  very  pretty  woman, 
and  always  has  a  swarm  of  admireis  round  hei* — he  may  bo 
there.' 

.  '  Very  likely.  In  fact,  I  think  he  will  be  there,'  said  De 
Pe'.A'en,  who  was  aware  of  what  Alain  did  not  know,  that 
this  house  was  a  focus  of  political  intrigue,  and  its  mistress  a 
fanatic  Royalist.  In  fact,  it  was  in  her  salon,  under  pretext 
of  a  social  gathering,  that  the  political  meeting  was  to  be  held 
which  the  police  were  in  wait  for. 

*  You  will  forgive  my  leaving  you  at  once  1  The  De 
Blanqueforts  have  been  excellent  friends  to  me  ;  I  cannot  let 
this  foolish  fellow  destroy  himself  and  them  without  trying 
to  interpose.     Thanks  for  the  warning.' 

'  Do  as  you  like,  mon  cher ;  for  my  part  I  should  not 
interfere,  for  if  the  young  man  do  not  compromise  them  to- 
day he  certainly  will  to-morrow,  and  you  yourself  as  a  refugee 
may  come  in  for  a  share  of  the  danger.     But  act  as  you 


ALAm'S  RANSOM.  359 

think  best,'  said  De  Pelven,  slirugging  his  shoulders ;  and 
when  Alain  was  gone  he  took  out  his  watch,  looked  at  it,  and 
mvj-mm-ed,  '  It  is  now  seven  o'clock;  by  eight  there  will  be 
twenty  more  people  in  prison  than  there  are  now,  including 
my  cousin  St.  Aignan.' 


CHAPTEE   XLI. 


Alain's  ransom. 


*  I -SHOULD  be  very  glad  to  know  what  has  become  of  oiu* 
friend,'  said  M.  Delys,  with  annoyance,  as  he  looked  at  the 
deserted   easel   where   Alain    should    have   been   at   work. 

*  Absent  all  yesterday  and  half  to-day  !  He  ought  not  to 
leave  us  thus  with  no  explanation.  I  thought  he  might 
have  gone  into  the  country  with  De  Forbin  and  Viucy ; 
several  of  David's  pupils  have  been  organising  an  excursion. 
You  know  David  encourages  their  studying  landscape  from 
time  to  time,  but  Duels,  whom  I  saw  just  now,  says  that  he 
certahily  did  not  go  with  them,  though  they  waited  for  some 
time  expecting  him.     Had  you  heard  of  any  such  plan  ? ' 

'  Yes,  he  spoke  of  it,'  said  Edmee,  who  looked  weary,  nnd 
as  if  she  had  not  slept,  *  but  he  said  he  should  come  in  Ijcfoi-e 
starting,  and  bid  us  adieu.  Besides  here  are  his  colours  and 
brushes.' 

'  I  cannot  understand  it,'  repeated  M.  Delys,  Avho  had 
ceased  to  recollect  any  peculiar  tie  between  the  two  young 
occupants  of  Ms  atelier,  and  looked  on  Alam  simply  as  a 
very  promising  artist.  '  I  begin  to  think  that  there  is  some- 
thing unreliable  in  him ;  that  rapid  way  of  painting  which 
he  has  is  vuisatisfactory ;  he  accomplishes  his  day's  work 
admirably,  admirably,  but  his  method  of  getting  through  it 
so  fast  is  highly  demoralising  to  othei-s.  Bon  !  do  not  start 
so  at  every  noise  ;  you  make  me  nervous,  my  child — you  are 
not  like  yourself.  There  !  at  last  I  hear  his  step.  So, 
Monsieur  le  Comte — ' 


360  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  No,  that  is  not  his  step,'  said  Eclmee,  who  had  been 
listening  keenly ;  *  it  is  more  like  Ealmat's,  only  so  slow. 
Perhaps  he  can  give  ns  news  of  Monsiem'  le  Comte.  Good 
afternoon,  Bal  mat.  But  oh  !  how  ill  you  seem  ! '  she  cried, 
forgetting  all  else  in  the  shock  which  his  haggard  looks  gave 
her.  '  You  ought  to  be  iii  yoiu*  bed  !  You  should  not 
have  come  up  these  stairs  ! ' 

'  Yes,  I  know  it,'  said  Balmat,  wearily,  as  he  let  himself 
drop  on  the  chair  which  she  pushed  towards  him.  '  Only 
two  of  you  here  to-day  1 ' 

'  As  you  see.' 

*  For  a  whole  day  and  a  half  the  Count  has  not  entered 
the  atelier  ! '  exclaimed  M.  Delys.  '  To  neglect  thus  a 
painting  which  he  is  pledged  to  send  home  to-morrow  !  it  is 
unheard  of ! ' 

'  But  you  yourself,  dear  master — you  do  not  always  send 
home  your  paintings  when  they  are  expected,'  observed 
Edm^e,  somewhat  resentful  of  the  blame  cast  upon  Alain. 

'  That  is  a  different  thing.  There  is  no  resemblance 
whatever  between  the  two  cases,'  said  M.  Delys,  without 
troubling  lumself  to  explain  wherein  tliis  difference  consisted. 
*  Kas  he  been  to  see  you,  Balmat  1 ' 

'  Two  days  ago.  He  seemed  much  preoccupied  by  some 
bus'ness,'  said  Ba^.mat,  looking  at  Edmee,  who  coloured 
vividly.  '  I  have  seen  no  one  since  but  Isnard,  the  last 
person  I  expected — he  came  this  morning  in  the  strangest 
state,  talking  confusedly  of  vengeance  satisfied,  comrades  who 
could  jest  at  him  no  more,  danger  to  himself,  llight,  and  I 
know  not  what.' 

*  As  he  did  when  he  took  refuge  with  my  aunt  and  me  I 
What  has  happened  1 ' 

*  Bah  !  he  is  a  mere  madman ;  how  can  you  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  his  folly  1 '  said  M.  Delys. 

'  There  was  some  reality  in  it  this  time ;  his  terror  for 
the  consequences  was  unfeigned,  and  he  wanted  to  borrow 
money — money  of  me  !  — to  escape  to  America.' 

'  I  hope  you  gave  liim  none  ! ' 

*  I  had  none  to  give.  St.  Aignan  tells  me  that  some  is 
coming  ;  but  that  is  no  matter  now.' 


ALAIN'S  BANSOM.  3G1 

*  All  !  he  has  been  with  that  Madame  de  Blanquefort ! ' 
thought  Edmee,  with  the  same  keen  pain  which  had  seized 
her  before ;  and  it  was  with  forced  calmness  that  she  said 
aloud,  '  So  your  portrait  of  Madame  de  Erissac  is  sold  then  % 
I  am  very  glad.' 

'  Yes,  but  that  is  no  matter  now.  I  did  not  come  hero  to 
talk  of  myself.  Look  what  was  brought  to  the  Maison 
Crocq  just  now,  and  delivered  to  me  by  a  messenger  who 
would  not  stay  to  be  questioned.  You  see  it  is  intended  for 
you,  not  me.' 

Pie  held  out  a  piece  of  paper,  on  which  was  written  in  an 
unsteady  hand,  'Alain  de  St.  Aignan  is  in  danger.  If 
Edmee  Leroux  wish  to  learn  more,  she  knows  to  whom  to 
apply.' 

'  In  danger  !  What  can  this  mean  1 '  paid  Edmee,  very 
pale. 

'  Do  you  know  the  writing  ? '  asked  Balmat,  while  M. 
Delys  took  the  paper  and  examined  it  with  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  imjiatience. 

*  De  Pclven's.' 

*  So  I  supposed.  He  doubtless  assumed  that  I  knew 
where  you  were,  and  that  it  would  reach  you.' 

'  But  this  is  a  trap,  a  manifest  trap  ! '  cried   M.  Dojys. 

*  Docs  he  think  us  so  imbecile  as  to  run  into  it  1     St.  Aignan 
is  safe  enough.' 

'  There  is  a  toJk,  Ducis  tells  me,  of  a  plot  among  the 
nowly-returned  Eoyalists,'  said   Balmat,   shaking    his  head. 

*  Some  twenty  or  more  have  been  arrested.' 

'  M.  de  St.  Aignan  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  that ! ' 
cried  Edmee.  '  His  principles  and  his  honour  would  all  for- 
bid it.' 

'  But  he  had  friends  among  these  men  .  .  .  there  is  a  young 
De  Blanquefort  of  whom  he  has  often  spoken.' 

'  It  can  bo  nothing  but  the  vaguest  accnsniion  ! ' 

*  Even  that  may  be  full  of  danger  if  Do  Pelven  wish  him 
ill.' 

*  True  ! '  said  poor  Edmee. 

'  I  cannot  piece  it  together,'  said  Balmat,  wearily.  *  If  I 
rightly  understood  Isnard  while  he  was  stamping  and  raving 


3G3  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

1 

alDOiit  my  room  lie  believed  that  lie  had  murdered  De  Pelven, 
or  at  least  given  him  a  death-blow,  yet  here  is  a  missive  from 
him  this  afternoon.' 

'  Serpents  cannot  be  killed,  unless  you  beat  the  life  out  of 
them,'  said  M.  Delys.  '  He  gets  St.  Aignan  out  of  the  way, 
and  trios  to  allure  this  child  into  his  clutches,  but  he  forgets 
she  has  friends  now — a  poor  old  father  who  will  not  let  her 
run  into  danger.' 

'  Dear  master,  danger  or  not  I  must  see  him.  It  is  true 
— tliis  story  ;  Monsieur  le  Comto  is  in  danger,  and  De  Pelven 
alone  can  tell  me  where  and  how.     Let  us  go.' 

'  Go  !  and  where  1 '  said  M.  Delys,  bewildered. 

*  To  the  Rue  Hauteville,  where  M.  de  Pelven  lives.* 
'  But  after  all,  what  do  we  know  ] ' 

*  I  shall  soon  know  all.  Come.  But,  dear  Jacques,  rest. 
You  are  worn  out ;  you  must  eat  and  di'iuk.' 

The  intensity  of  her  agitation  had  calmed  her.  She  paid 
no  heed  to  Balmat's  remonstrances,  but  cared  tenderly  for  his 
comfort,  letting  the  confused  and  incoherent  ai'guments  of  M. 
Delys  ])ass  by  like  id^e  wind.  He  found  himself  in  the  street 
before  he  well  knew  what  had  happened. 

*  But,  child,  what  are  you  about  1 '  he  remonstrated. 
'  You  who  until  now  have  liidden  yourself  so  studiously  from 
this  man  !     You  who  know  so  well  what  he  is  ! ' 

'  It  is  true,'  she  answered,  in  anxiety  so  feverish  that  she 
could  not  stand  still  as  he  paused,  but  di-ew  him  hastily 
along.     '  Let  us  find  a  carriage — you  are  coming  too  !' 

'  Yes — yes — Ah,  what  a  responsibility  it  is  to  be  a  father 
.  .  .  even  an  adopted  father,'  sighed  M.  Del}s,  submitting  to 
be  hurried  on.     '  Will  you  at  least  explain  jour  plans  ? ' 

'  I  have  none,  excc]3t  to  see  De  Pelven  as  soon  as  possible. 
There  is  &  fiacre,  mon  pere.     Bid  the  driver  go  fast.' 

Once  in  the  fiacre  she  sat  with  her  hands  locked  together, 
mute  and  motionless,  taking  counsel  with  herself,  probably 
forgetful  of  the  presence  of  her  companion,  who  contemplated 
her  with  perplexity  almost  comic,  askmg  himself  if  this  were 
indeed  the  Edmee  iisually  so  calm  and  passive. 

The  driver  obeyed  orders  and  went  fast,  with  the  hope  of 
a  2^ourhoire  ;  the  houses  seemed  to  fly  past  on  either  side,  and, 


J 


ALAIN'S  RANSOM.  363 

tliey  had  readied  the  Rue  Haiiteville,  then  so  lonely  and  un- 
frequented that  robbery  and  murder  wei-e  not  unusual  events 
in  and  near  it,  and  no  one  ventured  through  it  at  night  un- 
armed, befoie  I\I.  Delys  had  decided  how  the  step  they  were 
taking  would  be  viewed  by  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
whom  Edmee  had  imperatively  recalled  the  day  before,  and 
"who  therefore  miglit  be  soon  expected. 

*  We  were  so  comfoi-table,  so  well  settled  to  work  !  What 
a  pity  tliis  is  !'  he  gi-oaned  aloud,  and  Edmee,  roused  by  the 
slackening  speed  of  the  can-iage,  as  the  driver  looked  about 
for  the  house  indicated,  answered,  '  In  any  case  my  aunt's 
return  must  have  ended  all  that.     8ee,  we  are  arrived.' 

A  porter  came  to  a.nswer  the  bell  which  M.  Delys  pulled 
with  shaking  hands  and  unnecessary  violence.  *  Who  are 
you,  who  ring  thus  ? '  he  asked  in  a  surly  voice,  *  There  is  a 
dying  man  upstau-s — you  choose  a  strange  time  to  ring  such 
a  peal.     What  do  you  want  1 ' 

*  I  must  see  JM.  de  Pelven ! '  answered  Edmee,  at  whom 
M.  Delys  had  looked  helplessly. 

'  M.  de  Pelven  has  something  else  to  do  than  see  visitors. 
Yesterday  he  was  brought  in  stabbed  in  the  back,  and  he  has 
been  dying  ever  since.' 

'  Dying  or  not  I  must  see  him.' 

*  And  what  is  your  name,  I  should  like  to  know  ] ' 

*  Madame  de  St.  Aignan,'  answered  Edmee,  naming 
herself  thus  for  the  first  time. 

'  St.  Aignan  ! '  said  the  porter,  hesitating  and  surprised. 
'  That  is  the  name  of  another  of  our  lodgers,' .  .  .  and  ho  looked 
with  more  respect  at  Edmee,  then  turning  to  a  servant,  wlio 
came  rapidly  down  the  stairs,  '  Jean,  this  lady  asks  to  see  thy 
master  ;  she  will  not  be  refused.' 

'  Kindly  follow  me,.madame,'  said  the  man,  very  cour- 
teously. *  My  master  expects  you.  Imhecile  ' — to  tlie  porter 
— '  thou  hast  forgotten  that  I  told  thee  this  very  morning  a 
lady  would  come,  and  must  be  at  once  admitted.  This  way, 
madame.' 

'  He  knew  she  would  come  !  It  is  some  vile  snare  ! ' 
murmured  M.  Delys,  following  Edmee  u])  the  stau-s.  She 
tui-ned  as  they  entered  a  room  into  which  a  bed-chamber 


364  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

opened.  '  Stay  here,  dear  master.  You  will  be  close  by. 
Biit  do  not  go  further  away.' 

'  Heaven  forbid  ! '  muttered  M.  De'ys,  very  uneasily. 
*  You  are  running  into  the  lion's  mouth,  and  he  may  as  well 
make  a  meal  on  me  too.' 

Edmee,  preceded  by  the  valet,  had  passed  on  ;  M.  Delys 
followed  her  to  the  open  door.  He  could  see  a  niu-se  move 
away,  on  an  imperative  gesture  from  the  sick  man,  lying 
raised  high  on  pillows,  his  dark  glowing  eyes  making  hia 
corpse-like  pallor  more  striking.  Even  the  lips  were  colour- 
less, and  the  hands  lying  on  the  sheet  were  like  pale  ivory. 
4  s  he  saw  Edmee  stand  in  the  doorway,  those  eager  eyes 
seemed  to  flash  and  glow  with  double  brilliance.  He  waved 
aside  the  doctor,  who  was  bending  over  him,  and  speaking  in 
a  low,  warning  voice. 

'  I  have  conjured  you  up  !  I  knew  I  should,'  he  said,  in 
a  gasping,  broken  voice,  Avhich  betrayed  extreme  weakness. 
'  You  have  come  at  last  of  your  own  accord  to  seek  me.  I 
told  you  once  that  some  day  you  would.     Do  you  remember  % ' 

'  M.  de  Pelven,  where  is  my  husband  % '  asked  Edmee, 
meeting  his  ardent  gaze  unshrinking. 

'  Yes,  I  know  it  is  for  his  sake  that  you  are  here,'  he 
answered,  speaking  with  increasing  difficulty,  but  devouring 
her  with  his  eyes.     '  No  matter,  since  you  are  here.' 

'  I  asked  you  where  my  husband  is  1 '  she  repeated.  '  You 
have  betrayed  him.' 

*  I  have.  Hush,  Gaillard,  my  friend,'  as  the  doctor 
beside  him  tried  to  silence  him.  '  A  little  sooner,  a  little 
later,  what  does  it  matter  ]  I  am  dying,  and  you  know  it. 
Yes,  I  betrayed  St.  Aignan,  knowing  that  thus  I  should  find 
you  again.  Danger  threatens  him.  You  come.  It  was  well 
combined,  but  I  calculated  without  this  acciu'sed  dagger- 
stroke.' 

'  Will  you  tell  me  where  M.  de  St.  Aignan  is  1  You 
have  much  to  expiate — more  than  I  know,  perhaps.  Tell 
me  how  to  save  him,  and  I  forgive  all  the  past.' 

*  Many  thanks^  Madame  la  Comtesse.  But  I  will  be  paid 
for  the  service  which  you  demand.  I  am  dying,  as  you  see  ; 
I  have  not  two  hours  to  live — is  it  not  so,  Gaillard  1 ' 


ALAINS  RANSOM.  365 

'  Not  half-an-hour  at  this  rate,'  answered  the  young 
pLy  iciiin. 

'  You  hear.  Gaillard  can  have  no  interest  in  deceiving 
yoiT.  Besides,  you.  did  not  come  alone ;  I  heard  another  step 
out  there.  Stay  Avith  me  for  the  short  time  I  have  to  live — 
there,  in  that  arm-chau*  ...  I  do  not  ask  much,  you  see, 
and  I  will  give  you  the  means  of  saving  St.  Aignan,  I  will, 
on  the  faith  of  a  gentleman.' 

She  hesitated  ;  the  physician  whispered,  '  Do  not  refuse  ; 
he  is  dying  fast ;  I  shall  be  near,  and  it  is  a  dying  man's  last 
fancy.' 

It  was  much  more,  and  Edmee  knew  it.  The  repugnance 
with  which  she  remained  here  was  indescribable ;  she  trem- 
bled under  the  singular  gaze  of  those  fixed  eyes,  which 
seemed  to  draw  her  towards  him,  and  overmaster  her  will. 
But  ...  St.  Aignan  !  She  met  De  Pelven's  gaze  proudly 
and  cilmly,  and  sat  down  beside  him,  as  he  had  directed. 

'  That  is  well,'  he  murmured,  with  a  long  sigh.  *  Thus  I 
shall  see  you  to  the  last.'  And  his  face  relaxed  into  rehef 
and  satisfe-ct'on ;  there  was  a  strange  tenderness  in  the 
expression  which  stole  over  it.  '  It  is  thus  that  you  would 
have  watched  me  if  you  had  been  my  wife,  but  you  would 
have  wept  for  me  too  ;  you  will  not  do  that  %  No.  I  should 
have  liked  to  see  you  spend  a  few  tears  for  me.  But  stay, 
do  not  move  ;  what  are  the  dreams  of  a  dying  man  ?  I  should 
have  loved  you  well,  child,  better  than  that  man  v/hom  you 
called  just  now  your  husband  ever  will.  I  never  loved  any 
other  woman.  I  have  coui'ted  many  .  .  .  You  are  the  first 
whom  I  could  not  win  .  .  .  How  was  it  ]  "What)  made  you 
tm-n  from  me  at  Mortemart  half  won '( ' 

'  You  call  that  love  ! ' 

'  Yes,  Edmee  ;  you  do  not  believe  it,  you  do  not  under- 
stand it,  for  you  are  still  a  child.  I  loved  you  for  the  proud 
innocence  which  you  would  have  lost  had  you  listened  to  me ; 
I  have  betrayed  you,  I  have  slandered  you,  but  I  loved  you.' 

*  Do  not  deceive  me  again !  You  promised  to  tell  me 
where  M.  de  St.  Aignan  is,'  implored  Edmee,  alarmed  at  tho 
increasing  faintness  of  his  voice. 

'  Do  you  believe  that  he  loves  you  1 ' 


366  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  What  does  it  matter !  No  !  He  does  not  love  me, 
perhaps  he  never  will,  but  I  will  save  him,  I  must,  do  you 
hear  1 ' 

'  You  have  met  since  he  returned  ! '  exclaimed  De  Pelven. 
with  excitement  which  lent  a  passing  strength.  *  It  is  not 
the  old  romantic  desire  to  save  a  St.  Aignan  that  spoke 
there.     Where  have  you  met  1 ' 

She  made  no  answer.  '  i  should  like  to  um^avel  this  web,* 
he  murnuired,  with  a  half  smile  at  himself.  '  It  is  hard  to 
leave  so  promising  a  mystery  unread.'  And  he  seemed  ost 
in  speculating  over  what  she  had  just  sa:d,  and  putting  what 
he  knew  or  guessed  together.  She  looked  round  in  sQence. 
The  disorder  of  the  room  spoke  eloquently  of  the  moment 
when  the  wounded  owner  had  been  carried  in.  The  day 
waned  ;  its  last  rays  mingled  with  those  of  a  laicp,  lighted 
perhaps  to  seal  or  burn  papers  ;  its  pale  light  gave  a  stiango, 
unearthly  aspect  to  the  corpse-like  face  of  the  dying  man, 
now  breathing  with  audible  effort.  '  Ah  ! '  he  whispered 
suddenly,  in  a  tone  of  passionate  regret,  *  I  cannot  see  clearly ; ' 
and  he  passed  his  hand  OA'er  his  eyes,  as  if  once  more  to 
enable  them  to  see  the  face  so  soon  to  become  inv'sible  to 
him  for  ever.  *  Well,  I  keep  my  promise  .  .  .  he  is  in  the 
Conciergerie,  and  there,  in  that  casket,  you  will  find  the 
means,  if  you  like  .  .  .  what  do  I  care  now  1  While  I  lived 
it  amused  me  a  little,  but  now  .  .  . ' 

A  sort  of  remoi-se  visited   Edmee.      '  Alas ! '  she  said, 

*  it  is  impossible  to  have  a  priest,  but  think — ' 

'  A  priest  !  For  me  ! '  said  De  Pelven,  and  the  idea 
seemed  so  sovereignly  amusing  to  him  that  he  laughed  softly. 

*  For  me  !  Bah  !  one  dies  as  one  has  lived — Voltaire  said 
it.  All  I  ask  is  that  hell,  if  there  be  one,  may  not  resemble 
this  Avorkl.' 

*  But  it  is  not  yet  too  late,'  urged  Edmee,  with  a  feeling 
that  if  he  would  only  express  some  contrition  there  d  light  be 
a  sort  of  hope. 

'  Cli^'d  !  Is  the  heaven  you  believe  in  so  easily  entered 
that  a  few  pious  thoughts  now,  when  life  is  encHng,  will 
open  its  gates  1  If  I  got  there,  what  should  I  do  in  such  a 
region  1     Is  there  anytliing  in  me  wliicli  seems  to  you  to  fit 


ALAIN'S  BANS02L  3G7 

me  for  it  1 — Should  I  find  you  there  1  and  would  you  be 
williug  to  be  met  by  me  when  you  arrived  by-and-by  1 — 
How  f^hould  I  accept  now  fables  which  I  have  never  credited  1 
If  there  be  anything  to  learn,  I  shall  learn  it  soon,  if  not — • 
why  trouble  myself  about  it  1  You  have  some  concern  for 
me  then  1 ' 

Edmee  drooped  her  head,  dumb  befoi-e  the  sarcastic,  smil- 
ing scepticism  of  this  deathbed.  Her  own  faith  seemed  to 
fold  its  wings  and  shrink,  even  while,  fuU  of  self-reproach, 
she  sought  what  to  say  that  might  reach  his  heart. 

'  You  do  indeed  divide  us  for  ever  ! '  she  murmured. 

'  There  is  no  need  to  bid  me  believe  in  hell  since  I  leave 
you  to  De  St.  Aignan  ! '  he  answered,  '  but  I  keep  my  word 
— Th^e  casket.' 

Tiiinking  that  he  wanted  sometliing  out  of  it  she  took  the 
little  box,  unlocked  it,  and  found  it  full  of  papers.  His  gesture 
showed  her  wMcli  to  take  out,  and  a  glance  showed  her  that 
it  was  a  list  of  names. 

'  Fouche  seized  most,  not  all,  he  cannot  discover  who 
they  are,'  she  heard  De  Peiven  say,  and  she  looked  enquii-ingly 
at  him. 

'  You  mean  that  this  is  the  list  of  some  still  unknown  to 
the  police,  who  were  mixed  up  in  tlus  plot  1  that  I  can 
get  LI.  de  St.  Aignan  released  in  exchange  for  giving  up 
tliisl  And  how  is  it  that  you  know  them?  Did  you 
organise  this  conspiracy  and  then  draw  back  and  leave  these 
men  to  perish  ? — It  is  treason  ! '  cried  Edmee,  starting  up.  A 
faint  red  flushed  De  Pelven's  sallow  cheek.  He  could  not 
speak  audibly  now,  but  his  eyes  with  their  still  vivid  light 
dwelt  on  her  comitenance. 

'  Is  this  what  you  meant  'i  Shall  I  buy  my  own  happiness 
by  making  the  mothers,  the  wives  of  these  men  as  miserable 
as  I  am  now  1  How  should  I  dare  meet  my  husband  if  I  had 
freed  him  thus?  There  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  that 
Alain  de  St.  Aignan  tliinks  worth  a  crime  ! ' 

While  she  spoke  vnth  fevered  vehemence  she  was  holding 
the  paper  in  her  trembling  fingers  to  the  lamp  ;  it  shriveiled 
into  black  charred  fragments.  Still  trembling  with  excite- 
ment she  tiu-ned  to  the  bedside.     '  M.  Gaillard  ! '  she  cried 


368  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

in  teiTor,  for  De  Pelven  was  va,iniy  struggling  to  raise  him- 
self, or  to  breathe.  The  doctor  was  stooping  over  liim  before 
his  name  had  escaped  her  ;  the  sick  nm-se  and  M.  Delys 
hiu'iied  in.  Notliing  could  be  done  to  relieve  those  last 
struggles. 

'  Come  away,  my  poor  chiki,'  said  the  old  man,  exceed- 
ingly agitated,  '  This  is  dreadful.' 

'  I  promised  to  stay  to  the  end,'  answered  Edmee,  pressing 
her  hands  on  her  heart,  whose  beating  seemed  choking  her. 
The  dying  man  heard  her,  for  he  smiled. 

*  Here  to  the  last,'  he  breathed,  too  faintly  to  be  heard, 
and  his  hand  moved  feebly  as  if  to  seek  hers.  *  And  if  not 
mine,  at  least  not  his.' 

There  was  silence  among  them  all ;  Edmee  looked  at  the 
impalpable  fragments  of  Avhat  might  have  been  St.  Aignan's 
ransom. 

'  It  is  over,'  said  the  physician's  voice.  *  You  have  the 
consolation,  madame,  of  ha^^.ng  fulfilled  his  last  wish.' 

'  Come,  come,  my  daughter,'  repeated  M.  Delys,  taking 
her  death-cold  hands  in  his,  '  You  tremble  like  a  leaf 

Not  more  than  the  poor  old  man  did  himself.  She  let 
herself  be  drawn  from  the  room,  while  the  nm-se  and  physician 
were  speaking  apart. 

'  He  is  m  the  Conciergerie.  I  might  have  saved  him,  but 
it  cost  too  much,'  she  said  like  one  in  a  di-eam. 

*  How  !  in  the  Conciergerie  %  St.  Aignan  ? ' 

*  Yes,  it  cost  too  much.     He  would  have  been  the  first  to 
ay  so.     Ah,  take  me  home,  take  me  home,  dear  master.* 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

A     FRIEND     AT     COURT. 


On  reaching  the  Louvre  M.  Delys  and  Edmee  involuntaiily     'm 
avoided  the  salon,  which  they  were  accustomed  to  associate 


A  FlilBXD  AT  COURT.  369 

with  society  and  conversation,  thougli  since  the  departiu-e  of 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  it  had  been  empty  enough,  and 
passed  into  the  atelier,  where  they  expected  to  find  Balmat, 
but  instead  of  being  met  by  the  young  S-ndss,  it  was  the  face 
and  voice  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  wliich  gi-eeted 
them.  Their  surprise  was  gi-eat,  since  she  had  given  them 
no  reason  to  exjject  her  return  so  soon,  and  could  not 
yet  have  received  the  letter  which  Edmee  had  impetuously 
sent  off  after  leai-ning  the  existence  of  Madame  de  Blan- 
quefort. 

*  Here  I  am,'  she  said,  holding  out  her  arms  to  Edmte. 
*  I  could  no  longer  do  without  you,  and  I  longed  to  embrace 
ny  nephew,  otherwise  I  was  so  well  pleased  yonder  that 
decidedly  I  sbould  be  there  still.  I  went  exactly  at  the  right 
time.  Earlier  I  might  have  been  subject  to  annoyance, 
for  the  reaction  caused  by  the  emigres'  return  was  rather 
too  strong,  they  seemed  to  tliink  themselves  masters  of 
the  situation,  as  if  there  never  had  been  a  revolution  at 
all  ;  on  this  the  Republicans  lift  up  their  heads ;  the  club 
Salm  is  opposed  to  that  of  Clichy ;  proscriptions  recom- 
mence ;  we  have  not  done  with  them,  I  fear,  but  only 
rumours  reached  me  ...  we  have  no  gazettes  at  Moi-temai-t.' 

'  Dear  aunt ! — It  is  not  then  my  letter  which  brought 
you  back  % ' 

'  Letter  ?  no  !  I  never  got  it — You  could  not  imagine 
the  joy  we  feel,  we,  so  marvellously  escaped  from  deatli,  at 
meeting  again.  Those  whose  very  name  one  scarcely  knows 
seem  old  friends  ...  we  congi-atulate  each  other  on  being 
alive;  we  help  one  another — it  is  the  golden  age — metaphor 
ically.  Few  have  much  of  the  actual  metal  left.  It  will  not 
last,  I  know  it,  but  for  the  moment  it  is  very  sweet,'  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  so  fall  of  the  subject  which  bad 
engrossed  her  dm-ing  her  absence,  that  as  yet  she  could  speak 
of  nothing  else. 

'  But  where  is  Balmat  ] '  asked  M.  Delys,  equally  occu- 
pied with  his  own  concerns,  and  therefore  feelmg  all  this 
wearisomely  indifferent.     '  We  left  him  here.' 

'  Ah,  that  poor  Balmat !  how  miseraljly  ill  he  seems  !  I 
met  him  crawling  downstairs,  he  would  not  remain  lest  he 


370  NOBLESSE  OBLIQE. 

should  be  unable  to  get  home,  and  all  I  could  leavn  was  that 
he  had  not  seen  my  nephew  to-day,  and  that  you  Ijoth  were 
absent.  Where  have  you  been  1  Let  me  look  at  you, 
inignonne.  Ah  ! — Pray  monsieiu-,  what  have  you  been  dohig 
with  this  child,  whom  I  trusted  to  you  % '  &he  asked,  tm-niug 
impetuously  on  M.  Delys.  He  could  only  answer  by  a  de- 
precating gestiu-e,  and  stood  looking  like  a  criminal  before 
his  judge. 

'  Where  is  my  nephew  1     Speak,  monsieur  ! ' 

'  In  the  Conciergerie.' 

'  How  !  m  the  Conciergerie  !     What  does  this  mean 

*  He  has  been  ari'csted  on  the  accusation  of  cunspiiang 
against  the  Government,  falsely  of  course  ;  there  can  be  no 
question  of  that,'  said  M.  Delys,  hoping  to  break  xhe  news 
gently.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  fell  upon  him  instantly. 
*  Heavens  !  what  is  the  use  of  such  unnecessaiy  details  1  how 
can  you  take  so  long  to  tell  a  simple  story  1  do  1  not  know 
that  the  accusation  is  false  1  Go  on,  monsieur,  I  beseech 
jow,  or  no,  you  speak,  miynonne ;  men  never  can  explain 
anything.' 

'  We  do  not  know  much,'  said  Edmee,  quietly,  but  there 
was  a  pallor  and  contraction  of  the  muscles  roiuid  her  mouth, 
and  livid  circles  round  her  eyes  which  betrayed  the  sufierings 
through  which  she  had  been  passing.  '  M.  de  Pelven  ' — she 
shuddered  as  she  named  him — '  organised  or  at  least  knew  of 
this  plot,  and  found  means  of  involving  Monsieur  le  Comte 
in  it,  though  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.' 

*  I  should  think  so  !  My  nephew  has  too  much  sense, 
though  he  is  his  father's  son,  to  mix  himself  up  with  such 
ill-timed  folly.  If  the  Royalists  succeeded  in  bruaging  back  the 
Bourbons,  could  they  keep  on  the  throne  a  week,  when  all  is 
drifting  anchorless  ?  To  wait  is  then-  only  policy.  But  if,  as 
you  declare,  De  Pelven  has  got  my  nephew  into  the  Con- 
ciergei-ie,  he  is  bound  either  to  get  him  out  or  to  go  there  too. 
I  shall  go  at  once  and  tell  him  so.  I  presume  that  at  last 
you  will  permit  me  to  commmiicate  with  that  poor  De 
Pelven  1 ' 

'  Alas  !  dear  aunt,  how  shall  I  tell  you  .  .  .  M.  d«  Pelven 
was  brought  home  yesterday,  wounded ' 


A  FRIEND  AT  COURT.  371 

*  Another  duel !  That  foolish  fiishion  is  reviving,  one 
heai's  of  duels  on  all  sides.  Everyone  has  something  to 
avenge,  and  Messieurs  les  RoyaJists  are  perpetually  challeng- 
ing those  who  denounced  their  families  or  bought  their  lands.' 

*  It  was  not  a  duel.' 

*  ^Vhat  then  1  An  assassination  !  You  do  not  mean  it ! 
What  is  known  1 ' 

*  You  recollect  Isnard,  and  that  poor  girl,  Laure,  and  his 
vows  of  vengeance  for  her  death?  He  had  made  himself 
obnoxious  to  M.  de  Pelven,  escaped, — she  was  arrested  in  his 
place  and  perished.' 

'I  recollect  it  all,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  her 
usual  tone  of  good-humoured  irony  changing  to  one  much 
graVer  ;  *  it  was  then  to  De  Pelven  that  he  alluded,  and  he 
has  paid  his  debt  thus  !  And  my  cousin,  was  he  seriously 
hurt  ?  "VVTiat !  '  as  a  look  and  sign  from  Edmee  answered 
clearly  enough — '  you  do  not  mean  that  he  is  dead  ?  Dead  ! 
And  how  do  you  know  all  this  1 ' 

Edmee  had  no  choict  b.^t  to  tell  the  history  of  that  strange 
meeting  and  gloomy  parting,  and  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
listened  with  profound  astonishment. 

'  So  you  were  right,  he  was  not  to  be  trusted,'  she  said  at 
last.  '  Who  knows  ' — and  her  mind  glanced  over  the  past 
rapidly  putting  all  which  she  knew  together. 

*  I  would  willingly  believe  that  he  did  a  good  and  disin- 
terested action  in  procuring  my  release  from  the  Luxem))ourg,' 
she  added  preseiatly,  '  but  who  can  say  1  So  he  loved  you 
enough  to  lisk  so  much,  sin  so  greatly  for  yoiir  sake  as  this  ! 
De  Pelven  capable  ofa,(/ranrIe  passion,  and  for  you,  mir/nonwi ! ' 

She  looked  at  Edmee  with  odd  interest  and  respect.  1  hat 
such  a  man  as  De  Pelven  should  have  loved  her  evidently 
raised  hei'  in  the  eyes  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.  She 
had  the  assurance  which  she  had  longed  for,  that  the  village 
girl  could  fascinate  as  if  she  had  been  born  a  great  lady. 

'  My  poor  child,  you  have  suiTered  very  nuich,  and  kept  it 
all  to  yourrelf.  As  for  my  nephew,  we  must  take  coiinst;! 
what  to  do  ;  it  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  any  proofs 
against  him,  and  now,  thank  Heaven,  people  are  not  condemned 
without  i^roofs.     He  cannot  have  escaped  so  many  dangers 


372  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

to  fall  under  a  false  accusation.  It  is  unfortunate  that  just 
now  so  bitter  a  feeling  should  have  been  reawakened  by  the 
indiscretion  of  the  nobles  who  have  returned.  As  I  travelled 
I  heard  two  men  talking  over  public  afiau-s,  and  one  men- 
tioned that  General  Augereau  had  ordered  that  anyone  in 
his  division  who  vei-bally  or  in  writing  used  the  word  mon- 
sieur should  be  expelled  from  the  army  !  Judge  from  that ! 
But  we  are  not  such  fanatics  in  Paris.  If  I  only  knew  some- 
one in  power ! ' 

'  M.  de  St.  Aignan  studiously  avoided  all  political 
society,'  said  Edmee.  '  He  said  that  as  an  artist  he  had 
no  occasion  to  concern  himself  with  politics ;  besides,  the 
Republicans  are  now  passing  just  such  measures  as  a  des- 
potism might ;  forbidding  the  liberty  of  the  press,  punishing 
men  for  their  private  convictions — ' 

'  You  are  well  acquamted  with  what  is  passing,  ma  belle. 
How  did  you  learn  it  1 ' 

'  I  have  heard  M.  de  St.  Aignan  speak  of  it.' 

'  To  whom  ? ' 

*  To  me,'  answered  Edmee,  with  a  sigh  which  Mademoiselle 
de  St.  Aignan  could  not  understand.  She  was  thinking 
how  sweet  those  conversations  had  been,  until  she  heard  of 
Madame  de  B!anquefort.  Alain's  assm-ance  that  his  passion 
had  been  but  midsummer  madness  made  far  less  impression 
than  the  fact  that  he  had  loved  this  beautiful,  unknown  en- 
chantress, who  had  returned  to  Paris. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  M.  Delys  had  sat  silent  and 
ruffled,  very  resentful  of  the  set-down  which  he  had  so  un- 
deservedly received  at  the  hands  of  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan,  and  greatly  shaken  by  the  agitation  of  the  last 
hours.  He  was  forced  to  acknowledge  to  himself  that  he 
had  grown  an  old  man,  and  could  not  bear  svich  a  strain  with- 
out sufiering  from  it.  He  now  rose,  lighted  a  lamp,  for  the 
studio  had  grown  dark,  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  it. 
Scarcely,  however,  had  he  reached  the  fui-ther  end  wheie 
stood  the  easel  on  which  he  expected  to  see  the  canvas  upon 
which  he  had  been  engaged  before  Edmee  huriied  him 
away  than  he  uttered  a  ciy  of  terror,  startling  his  companions 
out  of  then-  troubled  I'everie. 


A  FRIEND  A2  COURT.  373 

*  Someone  has  been  here  diunng  my  absence  !  I  am 
robbed  !  I  am  a  lost  man  !  '  he  exclaimed  in  an  agony, 
seizing  his  wig  convulsively,  and  standing  as  if  transfixed 
before  the  easel,  widowed  of  the  beautiful  painting  which  he 
had  left  upon  it.  Edmee  started  up  and  went  to  him,  and 
laughter  returned  to  the  eyes  of  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan 
as  she  more  deUberately  followed  her. 

'  My  pictui-e  !  my  picture  !  my  flowers  !  where  are  my 
flowers  1  he  stammered,  looking  with  despau-  around  him. 
Ma  fille  .   .  .  mademoiselle  .   .  .  where  is  my  paintmg  % ' 

'  But  dear  master,  dear  father,  it  is  impossible  that  you 
should  have  been  robbed  of  it,'  remonstrated  Edmee,  amid 
his  incoherent  exclamations.  '  Balmat  was  here,  it  seems, 
up ,to  the  very  time  of  my  aunt's  ariiAal ;  who  could  possibly 
have  taken ' 

'  There  have  been  thieves  here,  I  tell  you  !  the  canvas  is 
gone  ! '  x-epeated  M.  Delys. 

'  You  aie  quite  right,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
shaking  her  head  with  mock  gravity  and  condolence.  '  Great 
ladies  are  sometimes  ax-rant  thieves,  dear  monsieur,  where 
paintings  are  concerned,  and  they  lose  patience.  Someone  who 
expected  that  picture  to  be  finished  six  months  ago,  and  who 
has  waited  perhaps  twelve — such  a  little  wliile,  you  know  ! — 
and  who  says  that  she  has  besought,  threatened,  implored  all 
in  vain,  came  at  last  in  person  and  took  it.' 

*  But  this  is  infamous  !  It  is  a  scandalous  theft,  it  de- 
fovves  the  giiillothie  !  '  exclaimed  the  old  avtist,  going  and 
coming  as  he  spoke  like  one  possessed.  '  ]\Iy  reputation  is 
lost]  I  intended  to  bring  that  pictiue  to  perfection  ;  there 
was  another  year's  work  in  it ! ' 

'  Precisely,  and  that  was  what  Madame  Bonaparte 
feared  ! ' 

'  Indeed  it  was  perfect  already,  dear  master ! '  added 
Edmee. 

'  There  was  a  year's  more  work  to  do  !  What  do  I  say  1 
A  year  !  two  !  three  ! — I  shall  go  and  demand  my  pictuio 
back ;  I  will  recover  it  at  once  ;  it  is  mine,  it  is  no  one's  but 
mine ! ' 

*  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  my  good  friend,'  said 


374  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

Mademo'selle  de  St.  Aigiian,  laying  a  firm  hand  on  him,  '  or 
at  all  events  you  will  wait  for  to-morrow.  Listen  to  me  ;  do 
you  not  see  how  aprojyos  this  is  ?  You  shall  go  to  the  Rue 
Chautereine  when  we  have  thought  it  all  well  over,  and  say 
whatever  you  please  as  to  your  flowers,  but  above  all  you 
w.li  speak  to  her  of  my  nephew,  and  explain  that  he  is  a 
pa'nter,  a  bond  file  artist,  not  one  who  has  merely  taken  it 
up  as  a  gcigm  pain,  as  my  friend  De  Chalys  took  up  making 
india-rubber  shoes  in  exiie — and  that  he  has  no  interest  in 
politics.  You  will  sm-ely  know  what  to  say  to  this  lady,  who 
adores  flowers,  it  seems  ;  speak  too  of  Edmee  hei'e,  and  say 

that  she  helped  you  a  littie  in  that  beautiful  group  which ' 

'  Which  might  have  been  beautiful  but  for  this  abomin- 
able proceeding.' 

*  You  will  say  that  Edmee  implores  her  to  grant  her  an 
interview,  and  try  to  imagine  yourse'f  speaking  to  a  queen — 
they  say  that  Madame  Bonaparte  loves  to  grant  favours, 
it  is  so  I'oyal ! — And  besides  she  seems  truly  amiable.  More- 
over, her  husband  is  ambitious  ;  some  say  that  he  aims  at 
supreme  power,  though  he  leads  so  quiet  a  life  at  present ' 

'  He,  mademoiselle  !  are  you  speaking  of  General  Bona- 
parte %  a  fierce  Republican  ! ' 

'  That  remains  to  be  seen.  Some  say  he  is  more  like 
Ctesar  than  Brutus.  It  is  unfortunate  that  he  appeal's  to 
detest  the  emigres  ...  no  wonder,  vv^ith  their  haiungues, 
and  theu'  brochiu'es,  and  their  denial  of  his  military  gloiy. 
Stay — suppose  instead  of  asking  an  audience  we  assumed  the 
privilege,  and  the  child  went  with  you  %  You  would  not 
fear,  my  child  % ' 

'  [Nothing  could  be  so  terrible  as  this  afternoon,'  said 
Edmee,  smilmg  faintly. 

*  Madame  Bonanarte  is  living  Rue  Chautereine.  She 
is  really  very  gracious,  very  elegant,  and  how  the  widow  of 
a  Beauharnais  could  so  derojer  as  to  marry  a  littie  Coislcan 
officer  passes  my  comprehension.  But  that  is  her  aflaii',  not 
oiu-s.' 

*  iHow,  mademoiselle  ! '  interrupted  M.  Delys  aga'n,  *  you 
call  Bonaparte,  our  deliverer,  our  Alexander,  a  little  Corsican 
ofiicer  ! '  he  spoke  with  absolute  horror,  for  Bonaparte  was  now 


A  FRIEND  AT  COURT.  375 

the  popular  idol,  and  had  awakened  an  absolute  frenzy  of 
enthusiasm  by  his  escapes  in  his  Italian  campaign. 

'  She  spent  some  time  in  the  atelier,'  continued  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  as  if  he  had  not  spoken,  '  and  gi-eatly 
admired  your  work,  my  little  one  ...  I  told  her  you  were  the 
adopted  daughter  of  our  kind  friend  here.' 

'  Mademoiselle  !  It  seems  to  me  that  "  daughter  "  alone 
would  have  been  sufficient,'  exclaimed  M.  Delys. 

'  Would  you  have  me  tell  a  little  lie,  my  dear  monsieur  ? 
And  after  all,'  for  she  perceived  that  he  was  really  wounded, 
*  lifter  all,  you  dear,  good,  unreasonable  man,  the  word  only 
shows  that  she  is  your  child  by  choice  and  affection,  not 
merely  by  nature — is  it  not  so  % ' 

'  Thanks,  mademoiselle,'  said  the  old  man,  soothed  and 
grafefiil,  and  he  kissed  her  hand,  while  Edmee  slid  her 
slender  fingers  into  his  with  a  loving  touch. 

'  You  have  taught  me  to  feel  there  can  be  sweetness  in 
the  name  of  father,'  she  whispered,  as  she  leant  her  head  on 
his  shoulder. 

'  There  was  an  old  friend  of  my  nephew's  with  Madame 
Bonaparte,  who  seems  intimate  with  her,'  resumed  Made- 
moiselle de  St.  Aignan,  a  Madame  de  Blancpiefort.' 

'  Madame  de  Blanquefort  here  !  That  too  ! '  miu-mured 
Edmee,  feeling  as  if  on  this  day  every  possible  pang  was  to  be 
endured.     '  Did  she  expect  to  find  Monsieur  le  Comte  here  1 ' 

'  Apparently.  A  very  agi-eeable  woman  of  the  l)est 
society.  I  enjoyed  the  half-hour  these  ladies  spent  hero 
much.  It  seems  that  the  mother  of  I\Iadame  de  Blanquefort 
v/as  in  prison  at  the  same  time  as  Madame  Bonaparte,  and 
was  very  kind  to  her.  This  naturally  makes  a  bond  between 
them.  We  had  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  my  nephew,  who 
seems  to  have  had  a  home  with  the  De  Blanqueforts  when,  iu 
England.' 

'  Let  us  go,  dear  child  ;  I  was  forgett'ng  my  poor  picture,' 
said  M.  Delys,  '  do  not  let  us  lose  another  moment.' 

*  My  poor  Edmee,  are  you  aWe  for  this  effort  1  Yv'ait  till 
to-morrow,  we  will  <lo  without  this  bud  man,  but  we  will  not 
keep  him  i-n  torture  any  longer.  You  are  worn  out,'  said 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  tenderly. 


376  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

*  No,  no,  dear  aunt ;  Monsieiu-  le  Comte's  safety  is  snrely 
as  important  as  a  painting,  and  if  the  one  cannot  wait,  no 
more  can  the  other.     Let  us  go,  mon  maitre.^ 

'  But  ...  if  you  are  not  fit  for  the  exertion  !■ '  hesitated  M. 
Delys,  conscience-stricken.  She  put  him  aside  impa,tient]y, 
feehng  as  if  this  hngering  were  intolerably  cruel.  '  Only  let 
us  go,  dear  master,  on^y  let  us  go' — and  he  followed  her  with 
a  wistful,  crestfallen  look,  feeling  as  if  he  had  forgotten  his 
Edmee  for  the  moment  in  his  anxiety  for  the  still  dearer 
child  which  his  genius  had  created,  and  of  which  he  had  been 
so  cruelly  bereft.  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  remained 
alone,  in  deepening  anxiety.  The  pleasiint  excitement  of  her 
return,  the  meeting  with  Edmee  and  M.  Delys,  even  the  un- 
expectedness of  the  ill  news  which  awaited  lier,  had  kept  her 
from  realising  the  greatness  of  Alain's  peril.  She  could  not 
know  how  serious  it  was,  for  the  Directory  had  been  greatly 
alarmed  by  the  elections,  which  were  highly  favourable  to 
the  Royalist  interest ;  the  acquittal  of  Michaux,  arrested  for 
having  published  an  eloge  on  the  Bourbons,  and  the  crowds 
of  emigres,  who,  with  or  without  passports,  were  flocking  back 
to  France  and  openly  avowing  their  intention  of  overthrow- 
ing the  Repubhc,  and  Barras  was  on  the  Avatch  to  crush  the 
fii'st  movement  among  them.  This  plot  in  which  St.  Aignan 
had  become  involved  had  exploded  prematurely,  like  so  many 
others  formed  by  the  Royalists,  and  was  but  a  forerunj).er 
of  many  more,  destined  to  culminate  in  the  unhappy  and 
disastrous  struggle  of  the  17th  of  Fructidor.  Meanwhile  the 
Dii'ectory  was  eager  to  make  an  example  which  should  terrify 
all  malcontents,  and  the  position  of  all  concerned  in  this 
abortive  conspiracy  was  dangerous  in  the  extreme.  De 
Pelven  had  foreseen  its  failure  as  soon  as  he  sav/  the  headlong 
rashness  of  its  leaders,  and  withdrew  quietly  from  all  con- 
cern in  it,  handing  over  most  of  the  information  in  his  hands 
to  his  old  ally  Fouche,  but  keeping  a  part  to  himself,  v/ith 
his  usual  caution,  as  a  reserve  force  to  be  used  as  suited  him. 
Such  novices  in  political  movements  as  the  members  of  the 
club  of  Ciichy  showed  themselves  were  below  his  interest. 
Although  none  of  this  was  known  to  Mademoiselle  de  St, 


A  FRIEND  AT  COURT.  377 

Aignan,  her  spirits  sank  as  slie  sat  awaiting  the  result  of 
Edmee's  interview  with  Josephine,  and  she  passed  several 
very  onauvais  qitar-ts  d'heure  indeed.  Bonaparte  was  not  ia 
Paris,  though  he  had  sent  thither  A^ugereau,  one  of  his 
generals,  to,  as  it  were,  represent  him ;  she  might  have  little 
or  no  influence  with  anyone  who  could  influence  Ala'n's 
fate.  Augereau  was  known  to  be,  in  popular  parlance,  '  fort 
prononce  dans  les  idees  du  moment.'  There  was  little  hope 
that  she  could  work  on  him.  But  then  a  whisper  of  consola- 
tion came  v/ith  the  sudden  recollection  that  rumour  asserted 
her  to  be  on  very  friendly  terms  with  Barras,  perhaps  the 
most  powerfid  of  the  five  Directors.  All  the  hope  which 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  dared  admit  seemed  there,  and 
it  was  not  gi-eat  when  she  remembered  that  one  of  David's 
pupils  who  was  an  ardent  Republican  had  quoted  a  few  weeks 
before  in  her  salon  a  speech  which  he  had  heaid  Barras  make 
more  than  once  to  the  effect  that  he  was  daily  hoping  to 
march  against  all  conspirators  who  endangered  the  Piepublic, 
and  drive  the  emigres  into  the  Seine.  The  fxint  lamplight 
scarcely  struggled  against  the  darkness  which  seemed  to  have 
rilled  the  atelier,  and  press  upon  it ;  the  high  window  stood 
blank  and  pale  at  the  further  end.  Unable  to  bear  it  any 
longer,  she  had  risen  to  go  to  her  salon,  and  was  standing 
with  the  lamp  in  her  hand  when  at  last  the  silence  was 
broken  by  steps  coming  to  the  door.  It  opened,  and  ad- 
mitted Edmee  and  M.  Delys.  She  could  not  speak,  but 
lifted  the  lamp,  so  as  to  throw  the  light  on  their  faces. — 
*  Ah  !  thank  Heaven  ! '  she  exclaimed,  before  they  could  say 
a  word,  sinking  down  again  on  her  chair,  overcome  by  the 
sudden  relief  from  the  strong  tension  of  suspense. 

'  Yes,  yes,  dear  mademoiselle,  we  have  good  hope,'  said 
M.  Delys,  as  he  shut  the  door  cautiously.  '  The  less  said 
the  better,  but  we  have  great  hope.' 

*  You  need  not  tell  me  that,  monsieur;  I  have  seen  it  in 
this  child's  face,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  as  Edmee 
knelt  besides  hei-,  and  laid  her  liead  on  hei-  bvcast  with  a 
close  and  eloquent  clasp.  '  But  tell  me  all— all,  do  you  hear, 
fi'om  the  beguiiimg.' 


378  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

'  But,  mademoLselle,  since  men  never  can  explain  any- 
tliini? — '  answered  M.  Delys,  maliciously. 

'  True — speak,  ma  petite.  Heavens  !  what  a  time  I  have 
been  spendinsj !  Decidedly  Purgatory  is  no  fiction  :  I  surely 
have  had  my  share  to-day.'  Now,  ma  Leila — you  have  never 
so  well  deserved  the  title,'  added  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan, 
smiling,  as  she  looked  at  the  sweet  face  of  Edmee,  radiant  with 
such  shy,  tender  happiness  as  indeed  lent  it  a  beauty  such  as 
it  had  never  had  before. 

'  Well,  dear  aunt  ...  we  reached  the  Rue  Chautereuie,  and 
were  at  once  admitted  ;  M.  Dc]ys  explained  why  he  had  come, 
and  that  was  talked  over,  and  then  he  introduced  me  ;  Ma- 
dame Bonaparte  said,  "  Your  adopted  daughter,  monsieuj- 1 " 
and  I — there  was  no  lielp  for  it — I  said,  "  Ah,  madame,  and 
the  wife  of  M.  de  St.  Aignan,  who  is  in  great  danger — " 
I  got  no  flii'ther,  for  a  second  lady,  who  was  present,  ex- 
claimed, "  How  !  the  young  Comtesse  de  St.  Aignan  whom 
I  have  heaid  of  from  Monsieur  le  Comte  ?  " — ' 

'  Madame  de  B:anquefort  1 " 

'  Piecisely ;  how  kind  and  amiable  she  is,  my  aunt ;  it 
■would  have  been  much  harder  to  tell  our  story  but  for  her ; 
she  helped  me  on,  and  knew  so  much  that  it  was  easy  to  tell  all. 
Madame  Bonaparte  is  most  gracious  and  fascinating,  but 
Madame  de  Blanquefoit  is  good — I  feel  it.  So,  to  show  how 
M.  de  St.  Aignan  had  been  betrayed  I  had  to  relate  evei-y- 
thing,  and  pi-esently  Madame  de  Blanquefort  exclaimed, 
"  I  see  it  all ! — he  has  been  trying  to  keep  that  unfortunate 
boy  Edouard  out  of  harm  ;  we  have  vainly  wai-ned  him — ". 
She  had  scarcely  spoken  when  her  husband,  the  old  General 
de  Blanquefort  was  announced,  such  a  handsome,  gi-and  old 
man,  ma  tante,  and  even  in  all  his  distress  so  gentle  and  cour- 
teous— he  came  to  say  that  he  had  had  orders  from  the  police  to 
leave  Paris  at  once  !  Imagine  how  sad,  only  just  returned,  to 
be  sent  out  again  into  exile  ! ' 

'  And  of  how  many  more  will  it  be  the  history  ! ' 

'  Madame  Bonaparte  wept,  and  Madame  de  Blanquefoi-t 
seemed  not  to  know  wliethei-  to  gi'ieve  most  for  her  husband 
or  his  nephew,  or  Monsieur  le  Coitite ;  I  heard  her  say  aside, 
*'  A  second  exile  will  cost  my  husband's  life — "  and  while  we 


A  FRIEND  AT  COURT.  379 

were  all  in  consternation  there  came  in  General  Hoche,  such 
a  handsome,  ga'lant  soldier,  my  aunt ;  even  then  I  could  not 
but  look  at  him  and  think  of  his  splendid  successes — of  course 
the  cause  of  our  distress  was  told  him,  and  I  assure  you  he 
looked  veiy  serious,  but  when  he  heard  the  name  of  St. 
Ai^nan  he  started  more,  I  dare  say,  than  he  does  at  a  cannon- 
shot.' 

'  Plow  !  he  knows  my  nephew  ! ' 

'  Monr^cur  le  Comte  served  under  liim  for  a  time,  and 
greatly  aided  him  by  a  sketch  which  he  had  made  of  a  foi-tress 
on  the  III  line.  "  AVhat,  St.  Aignan  accused  of  conspiracy  !  "  he 
cried,  "  I  would  answer  for  his  patriotism  as  for  my  own. 
No  harm  shall  happen  to  him,  or  I  lose  my  own  head  !  "  and 
then  it  was  all  discussed,  and  he  said  he  should  use  all  his 
intiuence  for  Monsieur  le  Comte,  while  j\Tadame  Bonaparte 
should  intercede  for  the  De  Blanqueforts  with  Earras.  Ajid 
then  we  took  leave.' 

MademoLselle  de  St.  Aic;nan  asked  many  questions  before 
she  was  satisfied,  and  exacted  minute  details  of  the  interview. 

'  I  beheve  we  may  hope,'  she  said  at  last.  '  Hoche  is  in 
a  high  position ;  he  has -not  only  served  brilliantly  on  the 
Uliine,  but  has  pacified  La  Vendee,  Why,  he  seems  a 
paladin,  psiite  !  ' 

'  So  he  is,  mademoiselle  ;  I  cannot  understand  how  he  can 
be  sprung  from  the  people,'  said  M.  Delys.  '  A  Bayard  !— 
a  Boland  ! ' 

'  How  do  you  know  that  Roland  v/as  not  sprung  from 
the  peoj^le  too,  monsieur  l—Ajvojws — your  picture  1  Have 
you  brought  it  back  1     I  do  not  see  it.' 

'  Mademoiselle,'  began  the  old  pauiter,  with  embarrass- 
ment. 

*  How  !  you  have  consented  to  leave  it  1 ' 

'  What  can  one  do  when  a  lady  is  deaf  to  i-eason,  made- 
moiselle 1  And  when  Madame  Bonaparte  said  that  she 
desired  as  much  to  keep  it  as  I  myself  could  .  .  .  she  is  so 
irresistible,  Madame  Bonaparte  ..." 

'  I  said  just  nov/  that  I  hoped  ;  I  may  say  now  that  I  am 
certain  all  will  go  as  we  desire,  dear  monsieur,  for  if  ^Madame 
Bonaparte  can  cajole  you  out  of  a  picture  she  can  assuredly 


380  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

seduce  Barras  into  sparing  a  life  or  two.  Is  it  not  so,  ma 
charmante  ? ' 

'  I  was  surprised  to  see  Madame  de  Blanquefort  so  old,'  Avas 
Eduiee's  ii^relevant  answer.     '  She  must  be  twice  my  age.' 

'  At  least.     A  chai  m Ing  woman,  is  she  not  1 ' 

'  Mais  otii ;  she  would  h?lp  one  gladly  in  trouble  ;  I 
could  always  go  freely  to  her,  I  tliink,'  said  Edmee,  in  whom 
the  jealousy  wliich  had  so  tortured  her  had  been,  she  scarcely 
knew  laoAy,  utterly  quenched  by  the  sight  of  her  rival.  She 
felt  entirely  convinced  that  Alain's  passion  for  her  had,  as  he 
said,  clianged  into  true  and  tender  fiiendship  and  esteem, 
such  as  she  herself  could  have  readily  given,  and  the  certainty 
of  this  had  been  bliss  even  without  the  good  hope  of  Alain's 
release  which  she  had  brought  away  from  the  Rue  Chaiitereme. 

'  Gome,  we  have  stayed  here  long  enough,'  said  Mademoi- 
selle de  St.  Aignan.  *  You  will  not  see  me  here  again  for 
some  time,  I  assure  you.  I  shall  always  recollect  with  horror 
the  time  I  spent  here  awaitmg  your  return  ! ' 

'  So  much  the  better  ! '  muttered  M.  Delys  audibly.  '  If 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  came  here  often  I  should  liave  to 
lind  another  studio,  for  wherever  she  is  a  little  court  sprmgs 
up  round  her  ! — IMy  poor  picture  !  But  now  I  can  devote 
myse'f  to  these,'  ancl,  oblivious  of  everything  but  art,  he 
took  the  lamp  from  the  table,  and  stood  lost  in  contemplation 
before  another  half-finished  group  of  flowers,  and  only  too 
late  awoke  in  consternation  to  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
allowed  the  two  ladies  to  make  their  way,  laughing,  as  best 
they  could  up  the  narrow  staii-s  leadmg  to  theix*  salon  in 
total  darkness. 

'  Monstrous  !  '  he  said,  standing  with  a  bewildered  air,  as 
if  not  quite  sure  it  were  he  himself  who  had  been  guilty  of  this 
lese  poUtessi ;  '  I  am  a  bear,  an  owl,  I  know  it,  but  such  a  dis- 
traction as  this  is  beyond  permission.  What  can  I  say  1 
"Wlaat  can  I  do  ? '  and  he  hurried  upstairs  to  the  salon,  where 
Edmee  was  writing  a  hurried  note  to  re-assure  Balmat,  and 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aigiian  was  comfortably  settled  in  an 
arm-chair  whose  vast  proportions  showed  that  it  dated  from 
days  when  the  pitiless  Greek  seats  were  unknown  in  France. 

'  Ah,  mademoiselle  !  what  can  I  sajV  he  began,  with  the 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE.  381 

lamp  in  one  hand  and  his  wig  in  the  other,  having  removed 
it  under  the  impression  that  he  was  taking  off  his  hat,  and 
an  air  of  contrit  on  and  despau-  beyond  words.  '  You  know 
me  of  old  ;  your  goodness  will  possibly  excuse  me,  but  never, 
never  can  I  forgive  myself.  To  let  you  mount  the  stairs 
alone,  in  darkness  ...  I  am  capable  of  anything.  Only 
yesterday  I  lit  this  lamp  with  an  assignat  of  a  hundred  francs, 
and  boiled  my  inkstand  instead  of  an  egg ;  but  that  was  no 
matter — while  this  !  Dare  I  hope  that  even  your  indulgence 
will  overlook  such  discourtesy,  mademoiselle  1 ' 

'  My  dear  friend  ! '  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aiguau, 
on  whom  light  had  gradually  broken  as  he  proceeded,  '  how 
relieved  I  am  !  I  really  feared  from  yoiu'  remorse  that  yoa  had 
again  yielded  to  temptation,  and  committed  a.  good  action  ! ' 


CHAPTER   THE    LAST. 

HUSBAND   AND   WIFE. 


*  Come,  come,  you  are  putting  a  fever  into  every  petal  of 
those  flowers  !  There  is  no  calm,  no  repose  in  what  you  are 
doing,'  said  M.  Dclys  impatiently,  as  he  flung  down  his  own 
brush  with  an  air  of  vexation.  '  I  can  see  that  from  where 
I  sit.  I  have  almost  caught  it  myself,  unhappy  child; 
thanks  to  you,  these  three  days  I  have  done  nothing  worth 
doing.  Now  you  see  what  it  is  to  be  beguiled  into  interesting 
oneself  with  the  petty  trifles  of  human  life.  I  repeat  to  yon, 
that  an  artist  ought  to  live  in  a  calm  and  lofty  atmosphere, 
consecrating  himself  to  works  which  will  live  a  thousand 
years  after  these  passing  matters  are  forgotten.  If  I  may  bo 
said  to  succeed,  is  it  not  because  I  studiously  refrain  fi'om 
allowing  myself  to  be  disturbed  by  thinking  of  other  people's 
interests  1  because  I  concentrate  myself  on  my  art,  and  never 
permit  anything  ...  Ah  !  my  dear  Count,  my  dear  son,  you 
are  given  back  to  us!     Ah,  I  hardly  dared  hope  for  this 


383  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

happiness  ! '  cried  the  old  man,  rising  tremulous  with  joj, 
and  holding  out  his  hands  to  M.  de  St.  Aignan. 

Edmee  had  risen  too,  with  a  cry  of  raptm-e  which  she 
forgot  to  suppress  in  the  ecstasy  of  joy  at  seeing  him.  stand 
before  her.  Then*  eyes  met,  but  his  were  fidl  of  deep  sad- 
ness, and  though  he  answered  affectionately  to  the  congra- 
tulations of  his  old  friend,  he  did  not  look  like  a  man  restoi-ed 
almost  beyond  hope  to  fiiends  and  liberty.  M.  Delys  saw 
nothing  of  this,  and  soon  hastened  away  with  a  sign  which 
told  Edmee  that  he  was  gone  to  early  the  good  news  to 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan.  She  dared  not  try  to  resume 
her  painting,  her  hand  shook  so  much  that  it  would  have 
been  a  vain  attempt,  and  she  knew  that  it  would  have  been 
only  natural  to  ask  St.  Aignan  questions  on  what  had 
occurred,  and  how  his  freedom  had  been  regained,  but  her 
voice  was  even  less  to  be  trusted  than  her  hand,  and  it 
Bounded  unnatur-ally  cold  and  constrained  when  she  said, 
feeling  the  pause  insupportable  as  he  stood  looking  down 
upon  her,  '  Have  you  seen  Ealmat  ?     He  will  be  very  glad.' 

'  Yes,  I  have  seen  him.  Poor  fellow  !  he  judged  his  state 
only  too  well.' 

There  was  silence  again.  She  was  asking  herself  what 
could  be  the  explanation  of  these  gi-ave  and  almost  stern 
looks,  this  want  of  all  warmth. 

It  was  Alain  who  now  broke  the  pause,  by  saying  in  a 
tone  of  studied  calmness,  '  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  alore 
for  a  moment.  First,  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  hej  e 
only  to  bid  you  fai-ewell.  Yes — listen  foi*  a  moment ;  this 
explanation  is  due  to  you  as  well  as  to  myself.' 

'  You  are  banished  ! ' 

*  Se'f- banished,  lest  I  prove  a  ti'aitor,  not  to  my  country, 
but  myself.' 

'  Madame  Bonaparte  has  betrayed  me  ! '  Edmee  said  to 
herself.     '  He  knows  who  I  am.     And  yet  why — why  1 ' 

But  she  found  no  answer  to  that  question,  and  could  only 
look  Up  to  him  with  eyes  of  wonder  and  pathetic  reproach. 

'  That  I  was  imprisoned  you  know,'  he  continued,  losing 
in  spite  of  himself  the  self-control  which  he  had  sought  to 
maintain,  '  but  you  do  not  know  how  I  have  been  delivered. 


RUSDA^'D  AND  WIFE.  383 

Hocbe  came  to  see  me  at  the  Concieraerie.  Hocho  was 
alvvays  my  truest  friend,  and  heard  all  that  I  could  tell  ;  I 
was  afterwards  summoned  before  Ban-as  and  Larivrelliere- 
Lepaux,  and  closely  questioned.  I  could  not  deny  that  I 
had  once  Iseen  present  at  a  meeting  of  the  club  Clichy,  l)ut 
fortunately  it  was  on  an  occasion  when  some  of  the  members 
spoke  with  absvu-d  injustice  against  the  military  genius  of 
Bonapai'te.  I,  who  have  been  in  Italy,  could  l)ut  ridicule 
this.  My  dissent  from  the  popular  feeling  enraged  them,  and 
I  believe  I  ran  some  danger.  Hoche  had  learned  this,  and 
made  it  tell  in  my  favour.  Bai-ras  wanted  information  on 
some  of  those  pi-esent  that  night  which  I  did  not  choose  to 
give — I  am  not  accustomed  to  act  the  role  of  spy  for  any 
party — and  I  was  sent  back  to  the  Conciergeria.  To  my 
great  surprise  I  was  this  moi-ning  informed  that  I  was  free, 
and  even  more  surprised  at  an  intimation  that  I  was  to  visit 
Madame  Bonaparte  before  returning  home.' 

He  stopped.     Edmee  murmured  something  unintelligible. 

*  She  received  me  with  charming  gi-ace,  saying  that  my 
fi'iends  the  De  Blanquoforts  Avould  not  suffer  from  their 
nephew's  share  in  this  plot,  and  that  she  could  not  regret  the 
mistake  which  had  occasioned  my  short  imprisonment,  since 
it  liad  enabled  her  to  serve  me,  and  to  make  the  acq-uaintancc 
of  mv  wife.' 

He  looked  at  Edm^e,  saw  her  pale  and  trembling,  and 
resumed  with  vehement  bitterness,  *  No  wonder  you  are 
astonished  ;  you  recollect  doulitless  that  the  first  time  I 
entered  this  atelier,  where  the  hajipiest  days  I  have  ever 
known  have  been  spent,  I  disclaimed  having  any  wife  1  At 
least  say  that  you  do  not  believe  I  wilfully  deceived  you  !' 

*  That  is  impossil)le,'  she  answered  f  lijitly. 

'  Thanks  for  that  kind  word,'  said  Alain,  seizing  her  hand. 
*  Ah,  if  you  did  but  know — if  I  only  had  the  right ' — tho 
suppressed  and  intense  emotion  with  which  he  spoke  thrilled 
her,  she  ga/x'd  up  at  him  in  suspcjise,  making  no  attempt  to 
withdraw  her  hand.' 

'  Helj>  me  to  say  nothing,  ]']dmce  ! — or  no,  rather  lot  mo 
tell  you  my  history  Ijcfore  we  part — I  leaAc  Paris  to  night.' 

She  made  a  mute  sign  of  assent.     Ho  resolutely  di-opped 


384  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

the  slencler  fingers  whicli  he  had  clasped,  and  put  his  hand 
over  his  eyes,  speaking  rapidly.  '  Some  six  years  ago  like  all 
the  world  I  was  about  to  be  arrested.  From  prison  to  the 
guillotine  there  was  but  one  step.  A  young  girl  of  St. 
Aignan,  a  child  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  perhaps,  came  to  warn 
me,  and  was  detected.  What  could  a  man  of  honour  do  but 
marry  her  and  take  her  out  of  reach  of  her  furious  relations  ] 
They  let  us  go  ;  I  took  her  to  the  only  relative  of  mine  left 
in  France,  obliged  myself  to  quit  the  country  at  once,  but 
fully  intending  to  return  as  soon  as  possible,  and  complete 
the  civil  marriage  by  such  a  one  as  the  Church  requires.' 

'  But  .  .  .  this  g^rl  .  .  .  could  not  hold  you  bound  by  a 
mere  civil  bond,'  stammered  Edmee. 

'  But  I  viewed  myself  as  bound,'  answered  Alain,  with 
sternness  which  betrayed  his  inward  combat.  '  I  had  in- 
tended to  go  to  Mortemart,  a  little  town  where  I  had  left 
her,  before  even  thanking  David,  but  I  met  my  cousin  De 

Pcdven ' 

'  Who  hindered  you  ! '  exclaimed  Edmee,  in  a  tone  of  such 
indignant  pain  that  Alain,  misapprehending  its  meaning, 
could  scarcely  continue. 

*  He  had  already  given  me  news  of  her — such  as  it  was — 
my  aunt  dead,  my  wife  disappeared — it  is  useless  to  rejoeat 
the  story.' 

'  He  slandered  her  1     And  you  believed  what  he  said  ? ' 
'Like  a  fool — no,  like  an  honourable  man,  who  could  not 
suspect  such  base   treachery  in  the  man  who   feigned  to   be 
anxious  for  the  honour  of  our  fiimily,  who  had  done  his  best 

to  have  it  respected ' 

'  Honour  !  Did  he  even  know  what  the  word  meant  ? ' 
said  Edmee,  trying  to  command  herself. 

'  I  owe  him  this  above  all  the  rest,  that  he  has  gone  be- 
yond my  reach,  and  there  is  no  I'eckoning  with  the  dead,* 
said  Alain,  between  his  teeth. 

'  Then  this  was  why  you  said  you  had  no  wife  ? '  said 
Edmee,  relieved  from  that  weight  of  perplexity,  but  still 
burning  with  indignation  against  her  calumniator. 

'  I  told  myself  that  she  no  longer  existed  for  me  ;  that  I 
should  never  marry ;  I   little  guessed  that  I   myself  should 


nUSBAND  AND  WIFE.  385 

tiu*n  traitor  to  this  iiolile  girl.  From  what  Madame 
Bonaparte  tells  me  she  must  he  in  Paris,  and  with  my  aunt.  I 
know  not  why  she  would  say  no  more.  IMy  course  is  clear  ; 
De  Pelven  probably  deceived  me  as  to  the  sale  of  the  property 
at  Mortemart ;  I  shall  at  all  events  surely  learn  something 
there  which  will  enable  me  to  trace  her.' 

Edmee  imderstood.  He  would  not,  could  not  go  without 
this  explanation  ;  he  felt  that  he  owed  her  this  veiled  con- 
fession of  a  love  which  perhaps  he  had  himself  only  realised 
when  this  barrier  appeai-ed  to  rise  unexpectedly  between 
them  •  he  had  studiously  avoided  asking  even  by  look  if  she 
retm-ned  it,  but  every  change  of  countenance,  every  tone  be- 
trayed unutterable  legret  and  pain.  Her  heai't  beat  with 
ioy  that  he  should  thus  act  as  much  as  with  the  happiness 
vvhijsh  she  scarcely  daied  face. 

'  Farewell ! '  he  said  low,  bending  over  her.  '  I  have 
little  indeed  to  offer  to  this  poor  child,  but  I  must  seek  her, 
and  my  good  aunt.' 

*  There  is  no  need  to  seek  far,'  interrupted  a  voice  laughing 
through  teai-s ;  INIademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan  had  entered 
unseen,  followed  by  M.,Delys,  and  was  holding  out  her  hands 
to  him.     '  My  dear,  dear  nephevv- !  yoii  are  I'estored  to  us  ! ' 

It  was  one  of  those  meetings  both  sweet  and  bitter  of 
which  theie  were  then  so  many.  Both  had  passed  through 
such  trial  and  peril  that  they  met  as  two  saved  from  ship- 
wreck might,  incredulous  of  each  other's  safety  and  of  their 
own. 

*  Ah,  my  deai-  Count,  thank  this  good  friend  who — now 
do  not  begui  to  contradict  me  monsieur ;  but  for  this  bad 
habit  you  would  be' the  most  iHMiuct,  the  luust  devoted,  self- 
sacrificing  fiiend  in  tlie  woi-kl.' 

'I!  good  he:iveus,  what  injustice!'  cried  the  poor 
painter,  liftuig  up  his  hands  apjiealuigly. 

'  And  do  not  forget  your  bride  for  your  old  aunt,'  added 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Aignan,  half-laughing,  ]ialf-we(^])ing. 

'  No,  1  am  not  so  ungrateful,'  answered  Alaui,  but  in 
spite  of  himself  he  looked  for  h(!r  whom  he  still  believed  to 
be  the  daughter  of  M.  Delys.  Theii'  eyes  met,  and  instead 
of  the  expression  which  he  desu-ed,  pci-hajjs,  even  while  he 


386  NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 

feared  to  discover,  he  saw  her  smile  and  blush  with  shy, 
exquisite  happiness,  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

*  Thanks  to  this  dear  child,'  began  Mademoiselle  de  St. 
Aignan 

'  How  !  it  is  you  !  it  is  you,  Edmee  ! '  he  exclaimed,  dizzy 
with  the  sudden  joy  which  flashed  upon  him,  '  There  ai-e 
things  one  dares  not  believe  ! ' 

*  You  have  waited  until  now  to  discover  her  !  To  be  sure 
you  always  believed  she  was  our  good  friend's  daughter.' 

*  "What  could  I  believe  else  1  All  combined  to  mislead 
me.  But  how  was  it  possible  to  be  so  cruel  as  to  tell  me 
nothing  just  now  ] '  said  Alain,  lowering  his  voice, .  and 
taking  her  hand,  with  an  accent  of  reproach,  though  it  did 
not  seem  as  if  he  would  be  implacable.  '  But  I  have  found 
you  though  you  hid  yourself  so  persistently.  At  least  tell 
me  that  you  do  not  regi'et  being  at  last  discovered  1 ' 

The  look  now  raised  to  him  was  sufficient  answer. 


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LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE 


BY  THE 


AUTHOR  OF  "MLLE.MORF 


Henry  HoLT&Co.  Publishers 


New  York 


